The Quest

Chapter 46

They rose before dawn and met in the courtyard, where Miriam had coffee, fruit, and bread for them.

They carried their backpacks and equipment, and what was left behind would be burned along with the Navion, to hide any traces that they’d been in the village.

Vivian and Purcell had slept in the same room, but not in the same bed. So they were friends.

The sky was beginning to lighten, and Purcell could see it was going to be a clear day. No one spoke much, because there was little to say that hadn’t already been said, and also because there were no words equal to the moment of heading off into the unknown.

Purcell, Vivian, and Henry thanked Miriam for her hospitality and promised to meet again under better circumstances. She seemed sorry to see them go, Purcell thought, but probably relieved, too. She didn’t hand them a map to the black monastery, but she did say, “If God wants you to find this place, you will.” She also assured them, “Edmund will be your guide in the jungle. Please be his guide in the ways of God.”

Henry and Vivian said they would.

They left Colonel Gann to say his own good-bye to his lady, and they went through a back door and into a flower garden.

They had as much food with them as they could carry, which consisted mostly of boiled eggs, bread, dates, and dried meat, all of which Gann assured them was high in nutrition, and would last a week. They each carried two canteens; one of water, one of the purple juice, which Purcell had come to enjoy. Henry had his Moët, of course, and Vivian had her camera. Purcell was in charge of the maps.

Colonel Gann came out into the garden, and it was obvious that his parting had been difficult. Purcell had never known that feeling himself, or if he had, the sense of loss was always made easier by a larger sense of relief.

Purcell looked at Vivian in the dawn light and saw she was looking at him, and probably thinking the same thing: How will we part? Hopefully, as friends.

Colonel Gann gave everyone a five-minute lesson on the Uzi, which indeed was a simple weapon to load and fire. Gann then led them through a fruit orchard and across a pasture toward the thick rain forest that surrounded the fields and village of Shoan.

He knew his way, and within fifteen minutes he’d found the head of a trail that none of them could have found, even in full sunlight. They entered the rain forest, going from human habitation to a world of flora and fauna that had barely been disturbed since the beginning of time.

The trail was narrow, and the jungle growth encroached on all sides. They walked silently, single file, and crouched most of the way. Gann had a machete with him, but he didn’t want to use it and leave evidence that the trail had been traveled.

Their first stop, after about ten minutes, was a huge gnarled tree that was mostly dead, and which Gann said was a baobab. A few paces from the tree was the shortwave radio, wrapped in plastic and covered with palm fronds.

Gann had hoped that the Royalist partisans had delivered new batteries, but the radio was still dead.

He said in a whisper, “This trail will take us to the spa. The road would be faster, but we’re more likely to come upon someone on the road — a vehicle, an army patrol, or Gallas on horseback.” He also told them, “I know some of these trails, but so do others. We need to remain silent, and we need to listen to the jungle. I will take the point, and Mr. Purcell will take the rear. If anyone hears anything, you will quickly and silently alert everyone, and point to where you’ve heard the sound. We will then take cover off the trail.” He asked, “Any questions?”

“Can I smoke?”

“No.”

They continued on, and the trail became more overgrown. They were heading generally north, paralleling the narrow road that they had driven in September. Purcell hadn’t much enjoyed driving the creepy road through the dark jungle, and he wasn’t enjoying walking through that jungle now.

The ribbon of sky above the narrow trail was getting lighter, and somewhere out there, the sun was shining.

Vivian was walking ahead of Purcell, and now and then she glanced back and gave him a smile, which he returned. It was hard to stay angry when each step could be your last, and when you were just hours or days away from the greatest religious discovery since Moses found the Ten Commandments — which, as it turned out, were in Axum, inside the Ark of the Covenant.

Purcell still didn’t believe in any of this, but he would be happy to be proven wrong.

After about an hour, Gann stopped and motioned everyone to the right side of the trail where an outcropping of black obsidian lay among the ground growth between towering trees. They sat on the rock and took a break. Gann and Purcell looked at one of the maps and estimated where they were. Gann said quietly, “The spa will be another two or three hours.”

They both studied the map and agreed that their next objective after the spa would be Prince Theodore’s fortress, which was about five or six kilometers east of the spa.

Gann said, “The map does not show a trail between the fortress and the spa, and if we can’t find one on the ground, and if there is thick underbrush between the trees, as there is here, we will have to cut a trail.” He informed them, “That could take more than a day to travel that five kilometers.”

Vivian reminded them, “Father Armano walked from the fortress to the spa, and we saw him at about ten at night.”

Gann inquired, “What time did he start from the fortress?”

Vivian replied, “I don’t know… but we have to assume he started sometime that evening… he could not have traveled far with that wound.”

Purcell reminded them, “Getachu said that his artillery bombarded Prince Theodore’s fortress — and this is probably how Father Armano got out of his cell.”

Gann nodded and said, “That would have been about seven-fifteen.” He told them, “I took note of the time, and I wondered what the idiot was shooting at, because he wasn’t shooting at me or Prince Joshua’s camp.”

So, with a little simple math, everyone agreed that Father Armano was freed from his cell — probably by a lucky artillery round — after 7:15 P.M., and he appeared at the spa about three hours later, meaning there was a good and direct trail between the fortress and the spa. All they had to do was find it.

Vivian looked at the rock they were sitting on and asked, “Could this be the rock that Father Armano mentioned?”

Gann replied, “There are many rock outcroppings in this area, and there is nothing remarkable about this one.” He suggested, “I think you should forget the rock, the tree, and the stream, which may have had some meaning to the priest, but that meaning is obscure to us.”

Vivian did not reply.

They all stood and continued on. It was becoming warmer, and more humid, and the thick, rotting vegetation gave off noxious vapors, which reminded Purcell of the jungles of Southeast Asia. There was a reason that few people lived in the lush tropical rain forests of the world; it was a hostile environment to humans, and a paradise for insects, slithering snakes, and animals with fangs and claws. In fact, he thought, the jungle sucked.

They continued on.

Colonel Gann walked easily, like he did this every day before breakfast, Purcell thought. And Vivian had youth on her side, but about sixty pounds of gear on her back, and Purcell could see she was dragging a bit. Henry, too, seemed a bit fatigued, and if physical exhaustion is mostly mental, then Henry should be thinking about their last trek when he’d run out of gas at a bad time, which led to a series of events that nearly got them all killed. Henry now wanted to redeem himself, and impress Vivian, of course, or at least not pass out in front of her, and that should keep him moving. If not, he should think about Gallas coming for his balls.

They continued on through the jungle, or rain forest, as Purcell’s editors now wanted it called. The insects and birds made a lot of noise, which covered the sound of danger. But as Purcell had learned in Vietnam when traveling with army patrols, if the birds become quiet, they’ve heard something. It could be you they’ve heard, or something else.

Purcell considered himself in fairly good shape, despite the cocktails and cigarettes, and this hike, even with all the carried weight, was so far like a walk in the park. But after a week of this, and sleeping on the ground, and the scant rations, he could imagine that they’d all be having some problems. It was obvious why the Gallas rode horses, and why many armies used mules as pack animals. But Colonel Gann had vetoed both for a variety of practical reasons, mostly having to do with noise discipline, and water and forage for the animals. Purcell did not usually defer to anyone in his business, which was why he was freelance and mostly between jobs; but he would defer to Colonel Gann in his business, as long as he thought Gann knew what he was doing.

About two hours later, Gann motioned everyone together and said, “The spa is about fifty meters ahead. I will go first and recon.” He borrowed Mercado’s binoculars, then handed Purcell the Uzi and three extra magazines and said, “You will cover me.” He pulled a long-barreled revolver from under his bush jacket and headed down the trail. Purcell motioned Vivian and Mercado to stay put, and followed Gann.

The trail ended at the clearing around the spa, and fifty yards ahead was the side of the white stucco hotel, sitting in the sunlight. Gann was scanning the area around the building, then moved toward it.

Purcell took the Uzi off safety and followed Gann through the tall grass. Gann went around to the front of the hotel, and Purcell kept about twenty yards behind him. Gann climbed the steps and disappeared into the building, and Purcell waited. A few minutes later, Gann reappeared and signaled all clear.

Purcell looked back to the edge of the jungle and saw Mercado and Vivian making their way through the chest-high grass. He motioned them to join him, and together they walked quickly to the front of the spa hotel.

They stood at the base of the steps that they’d climbed with the Jeep and looked at the crumbling ruin.

Vivian said, “We are back.”

Purcell looked across the field toward the narrow road they’d driven that night, and he could see the place where he’d crashed the Jeep through the thick wall of high brush that blocked the spa from the road. He looked back at the hotel. He must have seen the dome, he thought, or it registered subconsciously, and that was why he’d suddenly turned off the road.

Vivian saw what Purcell was looking at and said, “Fate, Frank. Don’t try to understand it.”

Mercado agreed, “I see God’s hand in this.”

Hard to argue with that, so he didn’t.

Vivian walked halfway up the steps, and Mercado and Purcell joined her.

She looked around and asked, “Can you believe this?” She turned to Purcell. “We are back where it began.”

Actually, Purcell thought, this all began in the Hilton bar, with Henry inviting him to come with them to the front lines. A simple “No” would have been a good answer. But Henry’s invitation was flattering. And Vivian had smiled at him. And he may have had one cocktail more than he needed.

Ego, balls, alcohol, and a restless dick; a sure combination for glory or disaster.

Vivian said, “We will begin here, where Father Armano ended his life. We have been to Berini, and we have been to Rome, and we will follow the priest’s footsteps to his prison. And with his help and God’s help we will also follow his footsteps to the black monastery, and the Holy Grail.”

Vivian took both their hands, and they continued up the steps to the place where Father Armano’s fate had intersected with theirs.

Chapter 47

They found Colonel Gann standing in the rubble-filled lobby. It looked the same as when they’d last seen it, except that along the frescoed wall where Purcell had parked the Jeep, and where they had heard Father Armano’s story, there were bones and skulls strewn over the marble floor.

Gann said, “Firing squad.”

Vivian stared at the skulls and bones, put her hand over her mouth, and said, “Oh my God…”

Purcell moved closer to the execution wall. Some military gear and rotted shammas confirmed that this was a mass slaughter of Prince Joshua’s soldiers. Jackals and ants had nearly cleaned the bones, but some desiccated brown tissue remained, and dried blood covered the marble floor.

The plaster fresco on the wall was shattered where fusillade after fusillade had cut down the condemned men. Purcell noticed that splashes of blood and perhaps brain stained the remnants of the fresco, as high as ten feet off the floor, adding a grisly touch to the pink bathing nymphs.

Mercado, too, was staring at the scene, and he said, “This is evidence of a war crime.”

Purcell, trying not to sound too cynical or unfeeling, replied, “Henry, this country is drowning in blood. What difference does this make?”

“This is inhuman.”

“Right.” They’d both seen battle deaths, but that was what passed for normal in war. Mass executions, on the other hand, had a special ugliness.

Purcell counted skulls, but stopped at about fifty.

Gann was poking around the lobby, gun in hand.

Vivian had walked away and was standing at the back of the lobby, which opened out onto the courtyard and gardens.

Mercado stared at the corner where they had laid the priest and covered him with a blanket — the now desecrated spot where he and Vivian felt a miracle of sorts had taken place.

Mercado said, as if to himself, “The blood of the martyrs gives nourishment to the church.”

Purcell could not completely understand how people like Henry Mercado, and to some extent Vivian, persisted in their belief in a benevolent power. But he’d come to see that there was a special language used to explain the simultaneous existence of God and human depravity. You would need the right words, Purcell thought, evolved over thousands of years, to keep your faith from slipping.

Vivian had unexpectedly returned to the scene, and she had her camera out now. She took a deep breath and shot a few pictures of the grisly carnage. She moved closer to the corner where the priest had lain and died, to shoot photographic evidence of both sainthood and mass murder.

Mercado stood close to her, to give her moral support and silent encouragement. It occurred to Purcell that Vivian and Henry might well be better suited to one another than Vivian and Frank could ever be. It bothered him to think that, but that may have been the truth. Henry and Vivian were, in a way, kindred spirits, eternally joined at their souls, whereas he and Vivian were connected only once a night. Well… but there was more there between them.

Gann had joined them and inquired, “I don’t suppose any of these bones are that of the priest?”

Vivian replied, “No. We buried him.”

“That’s right. Well, lead on.”

They exited the lobby through the rear and walked quickly across the paved courtyard, with Vivian and Mercado in the lead and Purcell and Gann on the flanks with their weapons at the ready.

Gann pointed out horse droppings, obvious evidence of Gallas, but he assured them that the droppings looked to be months old. Maybe weeks.

Purcell thought back to when they’d first walked through this spa complex without too much concern about Gallas, soldiers, partisans, or armed and desperate outlaws who roamed the countryside. God, indeed, watched over idiots.

Gann was being both security man and tourist, and remarked, “Incredible engineering.” He added, “Rather a waste, though.”

They found the garden where they’d buried Father Armano. Getachu’s soldiers had exhumed the body, and jackals had scattered the bones in the garden and on the paths. The grave itself had caved in and a colony of red ants had taken residence.

Gann seemed pleased for Vivian at all the bones, and Purcell thought Gann was going to pick one up for her and say, “Here we go. Nice one. Let’s move on.” But in fact he stood patiently and reverently, staring at the grave. Vivian took photographs of the grave and of the scattered bones, while Mercado again stood beside her.

The time had come to pick a bone as a relic of the saint-to-be, and Mercado informed everyone, “The skull is considered the most important mortal relic.”

But there was no skull in sight, so that set off a search through the overgrown gardens. Gann let everyone know, “The jackals will often take a bit of their find to their lairs.”

Indeed, Purcell had noticed that there were not enough bones to make a complete skeleton. But there were some good-sized bones, including a femur and a pelvis, and he would have pointed this out to Henry and Vivian, but he wasn’t sure of the protocol.

Vivian was about to settle for the femur, but then Henry exclaimed, “Here it is!” and retrieved a skull from the underbrush. He held it up, sans jawbone.

Purcell was standing closest to Henry, so he could see that, thankfully, the skull had been picked clean by jackals and red ants, and that the rains and the sun had contributed to the job, though the white bone was stained with red earth.

Vivian hesitated to take a photograph of Henry holding the skull, which might be considered macabre back at the Vatican, so Henry set the skull on the stone bench, then thought better of that, and set it beside the grave. Vivian took six pictures from different angles and elevations. Gann glanced at his watch.

So now, Purcell knew, they needed to take the skull with them, for eventual delivery to Vatican City. Purcell also knew that if he ever made it back to Rome, he would not be with Henry or Vivian when they presented their relic to the proper church authorities. And when they got to Berini, they’d bring photographs.

Vivian had taken a plastic laundry bag from the Hilton, which was in her backpack, and which she could use to hold Father Armano’s skull in a safe and sanitary manner. She opened the bag, and Mercado took a last look at the skull, as though hoping it had something to tell him. He deposited the skull in the bag and they crammed it in her backpack.

Next, the priest’s bones needed to be reinterred, and Purcell helped Mercado hand-dig the loose earth from the grave, evicting the red ants and other things from the pit. Gann contributed his machete, which they used to loosen the soil. They went down only about two feet because there were just bones to bury now, and not many of them.

They gathered up the bones and carefully placed them in the shallow grave, in no particular order. The three men refilled the grave and Vivian took photographs. Purcell supposed that as with photos taken on an exhausting holiday, say to the Mojave Desert, these scenes would be more appreciated when viewed at home.

The time had come for a prayer and Mercado volunteered. He said, “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life.” He added, “Rest in peace,” and made the sign of the cross, and everyone did the same.

Purcell sat on the stone bench, wiped his sweating face, and recalled that Father Armano’s death had compelled him into thoughts of his own mortality. But for some reason, seeing and reburying the priest’s bones had filled him with a far deeper sense of mortality. The difference between then and now, he understood, was what he’d seen in Getachu’s camp, and what he’d just witnessed in the lobby of this haunting ruin. He had already seen firsthand in Southeast Asia that life was cheap, and death was plentiful. But here… here he was looking for something beyond the grave. And he wanted to find it before the grave. In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life.

Vivian put her hand on his shoulder and asked, “Would you like a bath?”

He stood and smiled. They found the sulphur pool, but Colonel Gann, in the interest of security, and perhaps modesty, forbade any skinny dipping and suggested, “Mr. Purcell and I will stand watch, and Mr. Mercado and Miss Smith will bathe fully clothed. Five minutes, then we will switch.”

So they did that, and it felt good to be submerged in the warm water, which was cooler than the hot, humid air. Purcell made eye contact with Vivian, who was sitting on a stone bench next to Mercado, and she winked at him.

After Purcell got out of the pool, Gann gave him the revolver with a box of ammunition, which Purcell stuck in his cargo pocket, and Gann took the Uzi submachine gun, which was a far more deadly weapon.

They made their way to the back end of the spa where a wide, overgrown field stretched a hundred yards out and ended at a wall of jungle growth. They began crossing the field, and as they walked, Vivian said, “This is where Father Armano walked when he came out of the jungle.”

She turned and looked back at the white spa. “I wonder what he thought when he saw that? Or did he know it was there?”

Gann reminded everyone, “It was not built when he was imprisoned.” He also told them, “The road was also not yet improved, as we saw on the map in the Ethiopian College.”

Purcell assured him, “It is not improved now.”

“Well, it has deteriorated over the years. But in ’36 or ’37, the Italian Army widened it, put in drainage ditches, and paved it with gravel and tar, all the way to Gondar. Then they built the mineral spa for their army and administrators in Gondar. That’s what I saw when the British Expeditionary Force came through here in ’41 on the way to taking Gondar from the Italians.”

Mercado said, “So we know that Father Armano was not looking for this spa — or perhaps not even the road.”

Purcell said, “For sure not the spa. But he may have remembered the Ethiopian dirt highway from his travels with his battalion, or from the patrol he was on.” He added, “He may have been thinking of following the dirt track to Gondar.”

Gann again reminded them, “Gondar was still in Ethiopian hands at the time of Father Armano’s imprisonment, and his knowledge of the world was frozen at that moment, and remained so until his escape forty years later.”

Purcell said, “Right. So where was he going?”

Mercado suggested, “He had no idea where he was going. He was just running. And if he did know of that dirt road he may have intended to go north to Lake Tana where his battalion had made camp forty years ago. Or he could have taken the road south, toward Addis, where the main units of the Italian Army were pushing north to Tana and Gondar.” Mercado added, “As Colonel Gann said, his knowledge was frozen in time, and he was acting on what he knew, or thought he knew.”

Everyone seemed to agree with that theory, except Vivian, who said, “He was coming to find us.”

Purcell knew better than to argue with that, but he couldn’t help pointing out again, “The spa was not here in 1936.”

Vivian assured him, “That does not matter. We were here.”

They continued on and reached the towering tree line, then separated to look for a trailhead. Gann, who seemed to have a knack for finding openings in the jungle, found it.

They gathered at what seemed at first a solid wall of brush, but Gann parted the vegetation and showed them the narrow path that led into the dark interior of the rain forest. He said, “Game trail. But suitable for human use.”

Purcell took out his map, and also the photograph that showed the destroyed fortress. He took a compass reading and assured himself and everyone that this trail led almost due east, toward the fortress, though there was no way of knowing if it turned at some point.

They made their way through the brush and onto the narrow overgrown trail, and began moving through the deep jungle.

Purcell had no doubt that this trail would lead them to the fortress that they’d seen from the air. And from there, there would be many jungle trails converging on the fortress. But Father Armano had picked this one, and Purcell now thought he knew why.

Chapter 48

The game trail had not been traveled by humans in a very long time — except perhaps Father Armano five months ago — and at some point they thought they’d lost the trail. Gann still refused to use his machete, so there were times when they had to get on all fours and crawl through the tunnel of tropical growth.

The five or six kilometers that showed on the map should have taken about two hours to travel, but they’d been walking and crawling close to three hours because of the slow progress.

They’d drunk most of their water and were now into the fruit juice. Sweat covered their bodies and the insects were becoming annoying. Gann had assured them that the lions in this region were nearly extinct, but something big roared in the deep jungle, which made everyone stop and listen. Snakes, however, were plentiful, and Purcell spotted a few in the trees, but none on the ground, so far.

They stopped for a break and Mercado wondered out loud if the trail had gone off in another direction and if they’d missed the fortress.

Purcell assured him, “My compass says we’ve been heading generally due east.”

Gann concurred and added, “It always seems longer on the ground than on the map.”

Purcell looked at Vivian, whose white skin was now alarmingly red, and asked her, “How are you doing?”

She nodded her head.

He looked at Mercado, who also seemed flushed. The jungle, Purcell knew, sucked the life out of you. Theoretically, according to a Special Forces guy he’d interviewed in Vietnam, the jungle was not a killing environment, the way a frozen wasteland was. The jungle had water and food, and the climate, though unpleasant, would not kill you if you knew what you were doing. Snakes and animals could kill you, but you could also kill them. Only disease, according to this SF guy, could kill you, and if you got malaria or dengue fever, or some other fucked-up tropical disease, then you were just an unlucky son of a bitch. End of story.

Gann stood and said, “Press on.”

The trail seemed to be getting wider, and there was more headroom now, so they were able to walk upright. Within fifteen minutes Gann held up his hand, then he pointed up the trail. He got down and crawled the last ten yards, then raised Mercado’s binoculars and scanned to his front.

Gann got up on one knee and motioned everyone forward. The head of the trail was wide enough for everyone to kneel shoulder to shoulder and they looked out across a clearing to Prince Theodore’s fortress — a blasted mass of stone and concrete sitting under the noon sun.

Gann was looking through his binoculars again and said, “Don’t see any movement.” He handed the binoculars to Mercado, who agreed, and he gave the binoculars to Vivian, who said, “It looks so dead.” Purcell took the binoculars and focused on a section of collapsed wall that allowed a peek into the fortress. If anyone was in there, they weren’t moving around much.

Gann wanted to go in first, with Purcell covering, but Purcell said, “My turn.”

Vivian grabbed his arm, but didn’t say anything.

Purcell stood and began walking the fifty yards across the clearing to the fortress walls.

There were wooden watchtowers at intervals along the parapets, and he kept an eye on them as he was sure Gann was doing with his binoculars. As he got closer, he could see more clearly through the opening in the wall, and there didn’t seem to be anything living within the fortress.

He reached the pile of rubble from the collapsed wall, pulled his revolver, and climbed to the top. Inside the fortress he could see stone and concrete buildings with corrugated steel roofs in various states of ruin. The whole compound seemed to cover about two acres, which was not large for a fortress, but it looked imposing here in the jungle.

He satisfied himself that the place was deserted, and signaled everyone to join him.

Gann, Mercado, and Vivian began crossing the clearing quickly, and Purcell came down from the rubble pile.

He said to them, “No one home. There’s an open gate around the corner.”

He led them along the wall and they rounded the corner, where large iron gates stood open in the center of a long stone wall.

They passed cautiously through the gates and into the fortress. In front of them was an open area, a parade ground, where grass now grew. As they moved farther into the compound, they saw bleached white bones and skulls lying in the brown grass. The smell of the dead was barely noticeable after five months, but it still clung to the dusty earth.

Gann looked around and said, “This is what a half-hour artillery barrage will do.” He looked at the collapsed section of wall where Purcell had stood atop the rubble, and said, “Gallas probably came through that breach.” He added, “Nasty combination of Getachu’s modern artillery and primitive, bloodthirsty savages waiting like jackals to get in.”

Purcell could imagine the artillery rounds falling into this tight compound, blasting everything to rubble as the sun set. He could also imagine Prince Theodore’s soldiers being blown to pieces by the explosion, or ripped apart by shrapnel. And when the barrage ended, there would be a minute or two of deadly silence before the Gallas came screaming over the walls.

Gann, too, was imagining it and said, “The Gallas who got in first on foot would have opened those gates, and the mounted Gallas would have come charging in.” He added, “A Galla war cry is something you don’t want to hear more than once in your life — in fact, if you hear it once, you will not hear it again.”

Purcell saw Mercado looking over his shoulder at the open gates, as though expecting a horde of Gallas to come charging in. Also, Henry’s face had gone from ruddy to pale. Henry was remembering Mount Aradam again.

Purcell shifted his attention to the field of bones. Indeed, it must have been terrifying, he thought, for the soldiers here who had survived the barrage to see Galla horsemen pouring through the open gates with their scimitars raised. Death on horseback.

Gann said, “I don’t see any horse bones, so it wasn’t much of a fight.” He let them know, “Even if your walls are breached and your gates are open, you must maintain discipline and put up a good resistance. Better than being slaughtered like lambs in a pen.”

Purcell didn’t think that was information he could ever use, but he was glad to see that Colonel Gann was wearing his brass military balls.

Purcell said, “The question is, how did Father Armano survive this slaughter?” He said quickly to Vivian, “Do not say it.”

“Well, I will. God spared him.”

Purcell was getting a bit impatient with her divine explanations for everything, and he pointed out, “God wasn’t looking out for the Coptic Christian soldiers of Prince Theodore.” He suggested, “Maybe God is Catholic.”

Vivian seemed annoyed and didn’t respond.

Mercado said, “It does seem a bit of a miracle that Father Armano escaped this.”

Purcell speculated, “It might have something to do with his prison cell. Certainly the Gallas did not spare him.” He suggested, “Let’s look around.”

They walked through the small fortress which held only about twenty buildings, consisting mostly of barracks and storage structures. A large water-collecting cistern had been shattered by an explosion and it was dry. An ammunition bunker had been hit, and the secondary explosions had flattened everything around it. The headquarters was identified by the Lion of Judah painted in fading yellow over an open doorway. They looked inside and saw that whatever had been there had been burned, and a fine layer of ash lay on the floor and on the skeletons of at least a dozen men.

Gann drew everyone’s attention to the pubic bones of the men, and pointed out the hack marks, saying, “They use their scimitars to do their nasty business. Sometimes the poor buggers aren’t even dead.”

Purcell said, “Thanks for that.”

They continued on between the shattered structures and came to an almost undamaged building that measured about ten feet on each side. It was the only building whose door was intact and closed. The door was rusted steel and there was a hasp on it, but the lock was gone. At the bottom of the door was a steel pass-through with an open bolt.

Purcell said, “Looks like a prison to me.”

Purcell stepped over several disjointed skeletons that lay near the door and pushed on it, but it would not give. Gann joined him and together they put their shoulders to the door, but it was stuck, probably rusted shut.

Vivian suggested using the pass-through at the bottom, and Purcell knelt and pushed on it until it squeaked open.

Vivian, too, knelt and said, “I’ll go.” No one objected, so she shucked her backpack but kept her camera, and squeezed her slim body into the opening. Her legs and feet disappeared and the door fell shut.

They all waited for her to call out, but there was only silence.

Finally, Purcell banged on the door. “Vivian!”

“Yes… come in.”

Purcell went first, followed by Mercado and Gann.

They all stood in the middle of the dirt floor and looked around at the small, stone prison cell. The floor was covered with debris, and the roof was gone except for a single sheet of corrugated steel. There was a small opening high up one wall, and under the opening was a cross that had been etched into the stone.

Vivian said, “Forty years… my God.”

She reached up and touched the cross. “What incredible faith.”

Purcell and Gann looked at each another. Mercado said, “Indeed, this man was a saint and a martyr.”

Purcell wanted to point out that it was other Christians who’d put the priest here, but he’d exhausted his theological arguments.

Vivian took a dozen photographs of the cell, then suggested they all observe a silent minute of prayer.

They had been mostly silent anyway, and Purcell had no problem with this as long as they could do it standing, which they did.

Vivian said, “Amen.”

Purcell said, “This, I think, solves the mystery of how Father Armano escaped the Gallas.”

They looked around the sparse cell in case they missed something, like a note scratched in the wall or, Purcell hoped, a map or instructions directing them to the black monastery. He reminded everyone that Getachu’s soldiers had been here five months ago, and said, “This place has been picked clean.” Purcell suggested, “We should get out of this cell.”

Gann agreed. “This is not a good place to be if anyone comes round.”

Gann crawled out first with his Uzi, followed by Mercado, Vivian, and Purcell. Gann suggested, “We can take a short lunch break, then move on to our next objective.”

They found a shady spot along a wall and sat on the ground. They broke out some bread and dates, but no one seemed to want the dried meat, perhaps because of the smell of death on the bones all around them.

Gann said, “We need to find a stream. Shouldn’t be too difficult, but sometimes it is. Don’t drink from the ponds. But a wash is all right.”

Mercado said, “I saw some berries on the trail. And fruit of some sort.”

“Yes, some are good. Some will kill you.”

Vivian asked, “Do you know which is which?”

“Not actually.” He admitted, “Never could get them right.”

Purcell suggested, “Henry can be our taster.”

“After you, Frank.”

Gann asked Purcell for the area map. He studied it and said, “I see you’ve got six numbered circles here.” He asked, “Are they numbered in order of importance?”

Purcell replied, “Sort of. But not really.”

“All right, then… we’ll do them geographically.” He studied the map again and said, “Unfortunately, I don’t see any marked trails, but all of these places are within fifty kilometers of this fort… and there will be trails converging on this fort. We need to find the various trailheads, then decide which one to take.” He looked up from the map. “But these six points are not necessarily connected by trails, or by open terrain. So if we have to cut brush and vines, this could take… well, I’m afraid a month. Or more.”

“Unless,” Mercado pointed out, “we get lucky on the first try.”

“Yes, of course. But you understand, old boy, none of these little circles here could be the place we are looking for.”

“In fact,” Purcell said, “I don’t think any of them are.”

No one responded to that, and Purcell continued, “As you said, Colonel, there would be a number of trails converging on this fortress, so the question is, why didn’t Father Armano take one of the other trails? Why did he choose and continue along that bad game trail? Was his choice pure chance? I don’t think so. How would he have ever found that small game trail? Unless he came to this fortress on that trail.”

Again, no one responded, then Vivian said, “He was going back to the black monastery — back to the Grail.”

“Where else would he want to go?”

Gann said, “By God, that’s it.”

Mercado, too, agreed. “It was staring us in the face.”

Purcell pointed out, “All of our recon was based on a lot of speculation and false assumptions, all of it wrong. Everything we looked at from the air was east of the road. But in fact, if Father Armano was going back to the black monastery, then the monastery is west of the road, and west of the spa.”

They all thought about that, and Mercado stated the obvious. “We have no photos… no idea what is west of the road.”

“No,” Purcell agreed, “we do not. But we have a map that shows part of the area, and we have two points of reference — this fortress and the spa.”

Mercado said, “Any two points will make a straight line… but that line does not necessarily give us the third point.”

“Right. But we need to go back to the spa, cross the road, and head west.”

Mercado thought about that, then said, “So you’re suggesting we abandon all we’ve done and head into a new, unknown area.”

“Only if we all believe that Father Armano was walking to the black monastery.”

They all thought that over and Gann said, “You also need to believe he remembered the way he came here from the monastery.”

Purcell replied, “I believe it was burned in his mind. And when he escaped from here and walked through those open gates, he knew exactly which way to go.”

Gann agreed. “I’ve heard stories of that.”

Vivian spoke. “I think we all believe that Father Armano was going to the black monastery, and that he knew the way.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

They packed up and stood. Vivian asked Purcell, “When did you think of this?”

“Halfway here.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You needed a photo op.” He added, “We needed to be here.”

She nodded.

They left the ruins of Prince Theodore’s fortress by the gates that Father Armano had entered forty years before and had exited five months ago. They walked across the clearing toward the game trail, which they now saw was marked by a towering and distinctive cedar.

As they walked, Vivian came up beside Purcell and said with a smile, “That was a divine inspiration, Frank. Don’t deny it.”

He smiled in return. “I like to think of myself as a rational genius.” He added, “But I could be wrong about that and about this, too.”

“You’re not wrong.” She also said to him, “Prepare yourself for a miracle.”

They’d already had several of those, mostly having to do with flying. He said, “I am open to miracles.”

“And while you’re at it, open your heart to love.”

He didn’t respond.

“We could die here in the blink of an eye. So you need to tell me now that you forgive me, and that you love me. Before it’s too late.”

He stayed silent a few seconds, considering this, then said, “I love you.”

“Forgive me.”

“I cheated on you before you came to Rome.”

“I forgive you.”

He took her hand. “All is forgiven.”

Chapter 49

They reached the spa in the late afternoon, and though there were hours of daylight left, Gann made the decision to stop for the day, saying, “I don’t want any of us to overdo the first day.”

Clearly, Purcell thought, Gann was concerned about Henry, and maybe Vivian. He was a good officer. Purcell also pointed out, “We have no idea where we’re going after we cross that road, so we should stop and think about it.”

“Quite right.”

Vivian reminded Gann, “You said Gallas stop here.”

“Yes, well, they’ve mostly gone east, and their horse droppings look rather old. Also, this is a large place, and we will pick a dark corner of it and be quiet during the night.” He added, “I have my Uzi, and Mr. Purcell has my service revolver.”

They found the bathhouse, which still had fresh spring water flowing into large sunken pools from the mouths of black stone faces embedded in the marble walls — similar to Miriam’s bathhouse, Purcell noted, except these faces were not of lions, but Roman gods and goddesses, one of which looked suspiciously like Benito Mussolini.

Gann again marveled at the engineering, saying, “Reminds me a bit of the Roman baths in Bath. Water’s still flowing there after two thousand years.”

And that, Purcell thought to himself, was the last decent plumbing installed in England.

They drank from the mouths of the gods and goddesses, hoping the water was potable, then filled their canteens. The spring water was cold, but they bathed privately, and washed their clothes.

Not a bad first day, Purcell thought, and in the morning they’d cross the road and strike out into terra incognita.

They reconnoitered the spa complex and found a wing off the main lobby where the guest rooms had been. Gann explained, “This is where the Italian soldiers, administrators, and men of business came from Gondar for the weekend after a long week of exploiting the Ethiopians.” He added, “Built mostly by slave labor — captured Ethiopian soldiers. And staffed by young Ethiopian women.”

Purcell commented, “Sounds very Roman Empire-ish.”

“Indeed. It’s in their blood, you know.”

Purcell resisted any comments about the British Empire, but Gann said, “At least we brought order, education, and law.”

“Thank God you didn’t bring your plumbing.”

Gann smiled.

They found a guest chamber that looked fairly clean, and went inside the whitewashed room. All the furniture had been carried off, of course, but a chair sat in the corner in an advanced state of rot.

The spa once had electricity, undoubtedly from a generator, and Purcell noticed electrical outlets, and a ceiling fan that hadn’t turned in forty years.

The room also had a large arched window that faced east and would let in the dawn sun. The window had never been glazed, but sagging louver shutters were still fixed to the stone arch. The view from the window was of a garden that had become a miniature jungle, which Gann pointed out as a place to go if anyone came through the door. Conversely, if anyone showed up at the window, they could exit through the door and retreat into the large hotel complex.

They sat on the red tile floor and Purcell broke out the maps. He told Gann, “We’ve flown over this area west of the road, on our way to and from Gondar, but as you know, we were not doing an aerial recon of this area. From what I remember, however, this is thick jungle, not much different from the area east of the road.” He added, “This map seems to confirm that.”

Gann glanced at the map. “Yes, this whole area south of Tana is carpeted with dense growth.”

Mercado asked him, “Do you remember any of that terrain from when you were here in ’41?”

“I’m afraid not. We pushed up from the road and avoided the jungle.” He explained, “The Italian Army, too, avoided the jungle and kept mostly to the roads and the towns. When we took Gondar from them, they retreated into the hills and mountains to the north, not to the jungle.” He asked Mercado, “Did you experience the pleasure of jungle warfare when you were here?”

Mercado replied, “I was an army war correspondent.” He confessed, “I fought mostly in the bars and brothels.”

Vivian laughed, Gann smiled, and Purcell was afraid that Henry and Edmund were on the verge of swapping Gondar 1941 war stories, trying to discover if they knew the same bartenders and prostitutes, so he changed the subject and said, “What I do recall from our flyovers was that there was some high terrain to the west of here — what looked like rocky ridgelines coming through the treetops.”

Gann nodded. “Two of the three obsidian quarries I’ve identified from speaking to the people in Shoan are west of here.” He informed them, “The villagers still visit the quarries for small pieces of obsidian to use for carvings or house ornamentation.”

Vivian asked, “Could you find the quarries?”

“I have a general idea where they are.”

Mercado asked, “And you think the black monastery could be in proximity to these quarries?”

Gann replied, “Perhaps.” He pointed out, “We don’t have much else to go on.”

Purcell looked at Gann and asked, “Is it possible that Miriam said something to you, which if you thought about it…?”

Gann considered the unfinished question, then replied, “The villagers who went out to meet the monks would always return with sacks of carved obsidian, which they would take to Gondar for sale.” He explained, “Crosses, saints, chalices… occasionally a Star of David, and now and then a carving of Saint George Cathedral in Addis.”

Purcell informed him, “Vivian almost bought one of those in Rome.”

Gann smiled and said to her, “You should have bought the one with the map etched on the bottom.”

“I wish I’d known.”

Mercado said, “So what you’re saying is that you think the monks carved these objects and gave them to the villagers in exchange for provisions.”

“It would seem so.” He asked rhetorically, “What else do monks have to do all day?”

Pray and drink, Purcell thought. He said to everyone, “Well, it seems that this quest has taken on some of the aspects of Arthur’s knights running around without a map or a clue looking for the Grail Castle.”

Gann replied, “They actually found it, you know.”

Purcell pointed out, “There are no jungles in England.”

Vivian glanced at Purcell and said, “If we are meant to find it, we will find it. If we are not, we will not.”

“Right.” Purcell asked, “If the monks’ sandals and candles have been cut off from Shoan, how long do you think these monks are going to last in the black monastery?”

“Good question,” Gann replied. “I believe the monks are fairly self-sufficient in regards to food, though the villagers of Shoan would always bring something that the monks didn’t have. Wine, of course, but also grain for bread.” He surmised, “I don’t think there would be a lot of grain grown in the monastery or surrounding rain forest. So they will soon be needing their daily bread.”

Purcell suggested, “I’d think a single loaf would do, and one fish.”

Gann smiled.

Mercado asked Gann, “Where do you think these monks come from? I assume they don’t reproduce there.”

Gann replied, “No, they don’t. All gentlemen, as far as I know.” He told them, “It’s my understanding that the monks are chosen from monasteries all over Ethiopia. They understand that if they go to the black monastery, they will never leave there.” He reminded them, “Like the Atang who guards the Ark of the Covenant in Axum.” He concluded, “It’s a job for life.”

Purcell said, “I have two observations about Ethiopia. One is that this place has been caught in a time warp, and the other is that with the emperor gone, they are free-falling into the twentieth century, and not ready for the landing.”

“Perhaps.”

He asked Gann, “What has drawn you to this place? I mean, aside from your princess.”

Gann smiled, then replied, “It gets into your blood.”

Purcell looked at Mercado, who said, “It is the most blessed and most cursed land I have ever been in.” He added, “It has biblical magnificence, complete with an apocalyptic sense of doom.” He concluded, “I hate the place. But I would come back.”

“Send me a postcard.” Purcell returned to the earlier subject and said, “I think time is running out for the monks of the black monastery. They, unfortunately, can’t multiply the loaves and fishes, and history in the form of General Getachu is breathing down their burnooses. I would not be surprised if they are already gone, but if they’re not, they will be soon.”

Everyone agreed with that, and Mercado said, “I would be content with just finding the black monastery.”

Vivian said, “I would not.”

They looked at the map in the fading light as they ate some bread and dates, and Gann asked, “Do you know how long the priest was marched from the black monastery to his fortress prison by the soldiers of Prince Theodore?”

Mercado replied, “As I mentioned, the priest did not comment on it, so I’m assuming it was a day or two’s march.”

“All right. We now know that the travel time from here to the fortress is at most four hours. Therefore, let’s say the monastery is no more than a day’s march west of here. In open country, or on a good trail, either of which would be known by the soldiers, that would be… let’s say a ten-hour march at a brisk pace of four K an hour, will give us forty K to the monastery.”

Vivian reminded them, “The monks brought Father Armano to the soldiers. The soldiers were not at the monastery.”

“Quite right. And we don’t know where the soldiers were in relation to the monastery. But let’s use fifty K total.” He drew a half circle on the map, with the center of the radius starting at the spa and ending at the road. “There we are.” He asked, “What is that formula to find the area of a circle?”

There was an embarrassed silence, then Mercado said, “If that were a rectangle and not a half circle, it would be five thousand square kilometers… so if we nip off the curved part of the semicircle, it would be about… let’s say, four thousand square kilometers… give or take.”

“All right.” Gann stared at the map. “That’s a good amount of territory to be walking.”

Purcell suggested, “It’s not really the square kilometers that are important. It’s the trails and the few clues we have, including maybe the quarries, that will determine where we look.”

“Quite right,” Gann agreed. “And we can’t be sure that the priest was marched for only one day. It could have been two.”

Purcell asked Gann, “How long were the villagers actually gone when they left Shoan to go to the meeting place?”

Gann stayed silent, then said, “I have heard it was two days. A day there, and a day to return.” He added, “No part of the walk would be made in the dark, so let’s say it was a ten-hour walk, an overnight rest, and ten hours back to Shoan.”

Purcell produced the adjoining map that showed Shoan, and they tried to extrapolate from these two known locations — the village and the spa — walking times and distances west of the road, to see what intersected or overlapped.

Purcell was concerned that they were once again making false assumptions, misinterpreting clues, and being too clever, but this time, based on his conclusion that Father Armano was heading for the black monastery when they found him at the spa, he felt a bit more confident that they were narrowing it down.

Gann asked an interesting question. “Did the priest comment in any way about the spa? Did he say anything such as, ‘What is this?’ ”

Everyone thought about that, and Mercado said, “Now that you mention it, he did not, which in retrospect seems a bit odd.”

Vivian said, “He did say something… that Henry may have been asleep for.” She thought a moment, then said, “He asked, ‘Dov’è la strada?’ Where is the road?”

No one responded, and Vivian continued, “I didn’t think anything of it. He seemed to be delirious.”

Purcell said, “Well, if nothing else, that confirms he was looking for the road he remembered. The question is, which way was he going to take it? North? South? Or was he just going to cross it and continue west to the monastery?”

Gann said, “We don’t know, but we do know that he had come from the monastery to the fortress on a trail that ended at or crossed the road, and that is what we’d like to find tomorrow.” He added, “I would put my bet on this trail being either close to here, or farther south, toward Shoan. And I base that on the traveling time of the villagers.”

Again, everyone seemed to agree and they all looked at the maps, and Gann penciled in a few more marks.

Purcell suggested they’d done enough mental exercise, and that they should sleep on it. He lit a cigarette and passed around his canteen of fermented fruit juice.

They made small talk about other things and Purcell told Gann about the Navion and Signore Bocaccio, whose Mia was now a heap of burned and twisted metal. Purcell said, “I hope he and his wife had a good meal at the Hilton.”

Vivian said, “I feel awful that we couldn’t telex him.”

“I think he got the message that we were not returning.” He asked Gann, “Would two thousand dollars compensate him for the aircraft?”

Gann assured everyone, “People are selling what they can for whatever they can get, and they are fortunate to get any buyers.” He added, “Something such as an aircraft has no buyers, and the government would have expropriated it anyway.”

Purcell said, “That’s what I thought.” He assured Vivian, “Signore Bocaccio is happy.”

Gann asked Purcell, “How did you learn to fly?”

“Private lessons. I started in high school, in upstate New York. There was an aerodrome there. Lessons were fourteen bucks an hour, and I made fifteen a week working for the weekly newspaper.” He added, “Had a buck left over for cheap dates and cheap wine.”

Gann smiled. “How many hours did you have to invest in this?”

“The flying or the dates?”

“The flying, old boy.”

“Well, twenty dual would allow you to solo. Then twenty solo would allow you to take the test for a license.”

“I see. And why didn’t you get into something along those lines?”

“Well…” Purcell looked at Vivian and Mercado. “Well, I never actually took the test.”

Mercado asked, “Do you mean you don’t have a license?”

“Didn’t need one here. No one asked.”

“Yes, but…”

“I ran out of money.” He said, “I’ll bet you couldn’t tell.”

Vivian laughed and said to everyone, “Can’t you tell he’s joking with us?” She looked at him. “Frank?”

“Right. Just kidding.”

Mercado pointed out, “It’s moot in any case. We’ve burned the plane, and we will not be renting another.”

“But I’ll take you flying in New York.”

“No, thank you.”

Purcell stood and said to Vivian, “Take a walk with me.”

Gann cautioned, “Do not go far, and be back no later than dark. And don’t forget your revolver.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vivian stood and Mercado looked at her. “I don’t think this is a wise thing.”

“Don’t fret, Henry.”

Purcell led Vivian into the hallway and back to the lobby, then out to the courtyard. They walked along the colonnade then down the steps to the gardens.

The sky was deep purple now, with streaks of red and pink, and night birds began to sing. A soft breeze blew down from the mountains and they could smell the tropical flowers.

Purcell said, “I thought we would make love here.”

“I know exactly what you are thinking.”

“Sometimes I think about a cocktail.”

“You’re rather basic, you know.”

“Thank you.”

They continued their walk and Vivian asked him, “Who was it?”

“Who was who…? Oh… in Rome.”

“Yes, in Rome.”

“Well… I’m not sure who it was. An English lady.”

“How did you meet her?”

“In her hotel bar.”

“Did you go to her hotel, or yours?”

They were actually the same place, but he could imagine that Vivian would not like to think they’d all used the same bed. He replied, “Hers.” He also said, “I thought you had left for good.”

“You should have known better. But I understand, and I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“And when we get back to Rome, if I go off shopping, I hope you don’t think I’ve left you for good, and go off and fuck another lady you’ve met in the elevator or somewhere.”

“Right. That won’t happen.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting dark.”

She took his arm and led him around the statue of the two-faced Janus. She said, “For security reasons, we must keep our clothes on, but I suggest you drop your pants.”

He liked that suggestion and pulled his pants and underwear down as she knelt in front of him. Vivian said, “We will learn a new Italian word today. Fellatio.” She put his now erect penis in her mouth and showed him the meaning of the word.

On the way back to the spa hotel, she said, “There is a romance in classical ruins — something hauntingly beautiful about a great edifice returning to nature.”

“Right.” He said to her, “We need to find some privacy tomorrow night.”

“I don’t think that will happen again out in the bush.”

“Well… let’s see.”

“I’m embarrassed as it is that Henry and Colonel Gann know what we’ve been up to.”

“I don’t think they do.”

“I don’t think they could have missed hearing your moaning echoing through the colonnade.”

“Really?”

They got back to the lobby, which was very dark now. At the far end of the big room lay the bones of the slaughtered men, where Father Armano had also lain dying.

Vivian said to him, “Tomorrow we go to where Father Armano was going. Do not be cynical — he will show us the way.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Do you know what that statue was?”

“The two-faced guy?”

“That was Janus, the Roman god of the New Year — he faces back and forward.”

“I get it.”

“This is January.”

“Right.”

“Which reminded me of something. When I was in boarding school, which was English-run, I read a very beautiful passage — something that George VI said in his Christmas message to the English people, in the darkest year of the war. He said to them, ‘I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year, Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown. And he replied, Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.’ ”

“That is very beautiful.”

“Put your hand into the hand of God, Frank.”

“I’ll try.”

“You will.”

They rejoined the others.

Chapter 50

They rose before dawn and had some bread and boiled eggs as they waited for better light.

The night had been long and uncomfortable, and the jungle sounds had kept them awake. Purcell began to wonder if anything short of the Holy Grail was worth getting eaten by mosquitoes and listening for Gallas.

Vivian seemed cheerful, and that annoyed him.

Gann, too, seemed ready to get moving, but Henry didn’t look well, and Purcell was a bit concerned about him. But if Henry complained, Purcell would remind him whose idea this was. Or was this his own idea?

The dawn came and they left the relative comfort of the spa hotel and walked down the steps. They moved quickly across the field and through the brush, then looked up and down the road. Gann said in a whisper, “I will cross first, then one at a time.”

Gann crossed the narrow road and knelt in the brush on the far side. Mercado followed, and then Vivian and Purcell brought up the rear.

They beat the bush on the side of the road, looking for an obvious trail — a trail that Father Armano might have taken to his imprisonment forty years ago, and which he may have been looking for again before he died in the spa. Dov’è la strada? But even Gann couldn’t find an opening in the wall of tangled vegetation that lined the road.

Gann said, “We will walk on the road, though I’d rather not.” He instructed them, “The drainage ditch here is partially filled with dirt, as you see, and choked with brush. But we will dive into it if we hear a vehicle, or the sound of hoofbeats.”

Especially hoofbeats, Purcell thought.

“We will continue until we’ve found a trail that will take us into the interior of this rain forest.” He said, “I suggest we try south, toward Shoan.”

They began their walk south on the old Italian road that Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian had driven from Addis what seemed so long ago. The road, as Purcell recalled, was hard-packed, and he could now see evidence of the tar and gravel that the Italian Army had laid forty years before. But when Father Armano had walked the road — if he had walked it — the Italian engineers had not yet gotten this far. More important, any trails intersecting this road may have been more obvious forty years ago, before this area had become less traveled and less populated.

Gann stepped off the road now and then and smacked the brush with the side of his machete. After half an hour, Purcell said, “We’re going to wind up in Shoan soon.”

“That will be another two hours, Mr. Purcell.”

Up ahead was a huge gnarled tree, and Purcell picked up his pace. He got to the tree and said to his companions, “I am going to do some aerial recon.” He took the binoculars from Mercado, dropped his backpack, and shimmied up the wide trunk, then got hold of a branch and pulled himself up.

Gann said, “Watch for snakes, old boy.”

Purcell continued to climb the twisted branches and got about forty feet off the ground.

He sat on a bare branch and scanned the area around him with the binoculars. The trees near the road were not tightly spaced, though there was very dense brush between them. As he looked west, he could see the beginning of a great triple-canopy rain forest.

He turned his attention to the road and looked north, toward Tana and Gondar, but he saw no one approaching. The road was probably better traveled before the revolution and civil war, he thought, but now only armed men roamed the countryside, and he didn’t want to meet any of them — unless they were friends of Colonel Gann.

Purcell scanned the road to the south, and it was also deserted, though he saw some sort of catlike animals crossing a hundred yards up the road. He watched them go into the bush, then he focused closely on the area where they’d disappeared.

Gann called up softly, “See anything?”

“Maybe.” He made sure he knew where the cats had disappeared, then climbed down and jumped onto the road.

Gann asked, “How was your view?”

“Lots of trees out there.”

“What type of trees, old boy?”

Purcell described the terrain and suggested to Gann, “You can climb the next tree.” He told everyone, “The good news is I saw some sort of… medium-sized cats going into the bush. So maybe there’s a game trail.”

“Excellent.” Gann guessed, “Some sort of lynx, I would think.”

Mercado asked, “Are they dangerous?”

Gann replied, “Only if they have something better than my nine-millimeter Uzi.”

Purcell led them up the road, and over the drainage ditch, to the ten-foot-high wall of tropical vegetation. He said, “Right about here.”

Gann got on all fours, like a cat, and said, “Here is the trailhead.” They all crawled through the tangled brush onto a shoulder-wide trail, overhung with branches that formed a natural ceiling above their heads.

The trail itself was clear, and it was obvious that this was a well-used route.

Purcell said, “This could be the trail used by the villagers.”

Gann agreed. “Someone is using it on a regular basis.”

Vivian asked, “Does anyone but me think that those cats were sent by God to show us this trail?”

Purcell assured her, “Only you, Vivian.”

“Well.” She smiled. “I don’t think that either.”

But Purcell thought she did. And maybe this time she was right.

Gann said, “We will travel about twenty feet apart, but always within sight of one another. Maintain sound discipline, no smoking, and alert everyone if you hear something.”

Mercado asked, “Where are we going?”

Gann replied, “I don’t know, but we’ll make good time getting there.” He took Purcell’s map and looked at it. “Don’t see this trail.” He said, “We’ll see what we see, and we will fly by the seat of our pants.” He added, “We’re in the right area, and if we read the land correctly, I feel confident we can find at least one of the abandoned stone quarries, which may be a clue to the location of the black monastery.”

Purcell was impressed with Colonel Gann’s outdoor skills, and he asked him, “Can we live off the land? I mean if the food runs out.”

“I don’t much fancy jungle pickings, old boy.”

“Me neither.”

“Let’s make certain we can get back to Shoan before the victuals run out.” Gann informed them, “If everyone’s gone, there will be a food cache there for us.”

Purcell said, “If you’re gone, where would we find that cache?”

“You should look in the stone cisterns which are high up. This is the dry season, and they will be suitable for food storage.”

“Which cistern?”

“Don’t know, old boy. Each house has one. You’ll find the right one.”

“Couldn’t they have left the food in the palace kitchen?”

“We don’t know who will be coming around after the last person has left.” He explained, “Goats, chickens, and such will be left behind, and that draws hungry people.”

“Well, let’s hope the Gallas don’t come around.”

“More likely soldiers or partisans.” He added, “We need to be careful when we enter the village.”

Mercado asked, “How will we actually get out of here after we’ve completed our mission?”

“There is a Royalist partisan point about fifty K west of Shoan, and I can find it without a map. Been there. Chaps there will guide us to the French Somali border, as I mentioned.”

Purcell asked, “And if you’re not with us to find that place?”

“Dead, you mean?”

“Or just not feeling well.”

Gann smiled, then said seriously, “I’d advise you to walk to Gondar. You should be able to blend into the population, though it’s a bit tricky with all the Western tourists and businesspeople gone, and the soldiers everywhere. But it’s not impossible to do that.”

Purcell suggested, “We could pose as journalists.”

“There you are.”

“What do we do after we blend?”

“You should try to get to Addis by plane, or get someone with a truck to drive you over the Sudan border.” He handed the map back to Purcell and asked, “Have we covered everything?”

“We have.”

“Miss Smith? Any questions or concerns?”

“No. Let’s go.”

Gann, in military style, restated their mission objective. “We are looking for two things. One is the place where the Falashas meet the monks. We will look for signs of human presence — food waste, campfires, footprints, and all that. Our primary objective, not completely dependent on the first objective, is to find the black monastery.” He reminded them, “From Shoan, which is a few hours’ march south of here, give or take, to the meeting place is, as we know, a day’s march. From the meeting place to the monastery is, we believe, or assume, another day’s march.” He concluded, “If we find the meeting place, then we know we are a day’s march to the monastery — though we don’t know in which direction.” He added, “It’s possible, of course, that we don’t find the meeting place, but do find the monastery.” Gann looked at Purcell, Mercado, and Vivian and asked, “Is that clear?”

Purcell thought it had already been clear why they were in Ethiopia. But to be a good soldier, he said, “Clear.”

Mercado nodded.

Vivian said, “A rock, a tree, and a stream. And maybe a cluster of palms.”

Gann looked at her. “Yes, all right.” He glanced at his watch, then said, “We will let Mr. Purcell take point and I will bring up the rear.” He smiled. “Follow those cats.”

Purcell began walking up the trail. Somewhere between here and where they wanted to go lay a vast expanse of unknown. And the end of the trail was also unknown. From the unknown, through the unknown, to the unknown. Put your hand into the hand of God. It will be all right.

Chapter 51

What started as a hopeful beginning was becoming a long day in the jungle.

The trail remained wide, but it was soon obvious that it was not the only trail; many smaller trails intersected the main one, though none had any signs of recent footprints or hoofprints, or signs of cut vegetation.

Gann stated the obvious. “There seems to be a network of trails in this area.”

Purcell had checked his compass as they moved, and they were headed generally west, but also veering south.

Mercado inquired, “What are we actually doing?”

Gann explained, “We are trail walking, following the paths of least resistance to cover as much ground as possible.”

Purcell recalled an army ranger once saying to him on patrol, “We don’t know where we are or where we’re going, but we’re making really good time.”

Gann and Purcell looked at the map to try to determine where they were, but the Italian Army maps showed no trails under the dense overhanging canopy. And with no landmarks visible on the ground, it was nearly impossible to determine their position on the map. All they had to go by was the compass and their traveling time.

Gann put his finger on the map and said, “I believe we are here.”

Purcell asked, “Where is here?”

“Where we are standing. Give or take a kilometer.”

“I’m not even sure we’re on the right map.”

“I believe we are.” He said, “All we can do is continue to run the trails.”

“Right. But I can see now that we could pass within fifty meters of the monastery and walk right by it.” Purcell added, “We can assume the monastery is not directly on a trail.”

“That is a good assumption.”

Mercado said, “I think we should have stuck to the original plan and checked out what we saw in the photographs east of the road.”

Vivian said, “No, I am convinced that Frank was right — Father Armano was headed this way to return to the black monastery.”

Mercado did not reply.

Purcell reminded Gann, “You said you thought you could find one of these stone quarries.”

“Yes, I did say that. Unfortunately, now that I’m here, I see the difficulties.” He added, “No soldier or explorer has ever had a good experience in the jungle.”

“And we’re not going to be the first.”

“We need to just push on, trust our instincts, look for a clue or two, and pray that fortune is with us.”

Vivian reminded them, “Also, we are meant to find the monastery.”

Gann said, “The good thing is that we are not restricted by time, as we would be with a military objective.” He added, “We have all the time we need.”

Purcell reminded him, “The monks may be packing their suitcases right now.”

“Yes, but the monastery is not going anywhere.”

“Right. But we are restricted by our supplies and stamina.”

“That is always a problem,” Gann conceded.

Vivian said, “Let’s move on.”

Mercado cautioned, “We need to be sure we can find and reach Shoan before our provisions run out. I say three more days of this, then we need to start back.”

Gann agreed. “But by a different route so we can explore new territory.”

They moved on and came to a fork in the trail. They explored down both paths, and for no particular reason decided on the left fork.

They continued on, and saw that the trail was getting narrower.

Vivian had taken a few photos, but there was not much to photograph on the tight trails, and she seemed to lose interest in recording their quest to find the Holy Grail. If you’ve seen one jungle trail, Purcell knew, you’ve seen them all.

After an hour, Purcell spotted a tall cedar off the trail and made his way through the brush to get to it. He climbed the trunk to the first branch, then climbed branch by branch until he was about thirty feet off the ground. He scanned the terrain with his binoculars and saw that they were a few kilometers away from the higher ground to the west and the triple-canopy jungle he’d seen from the other tree on the road, and seen when he flew to Gondar. The sun would be below the tree line in about an hour.

He climbed down from the tree and made his way back to the trail. He informed them, “Farther west is triple-canopy jungle, and I suggest we head there.”

Gann nodded. “That is also where I’m told an old quarry exists.”

Mercado pointed out, “We’ve been traveling the better part of the day, and the villagers apparently traveled one day to the meeting spot, and we are at the end of that time period.”

Gann informed him, “Traveling time is not distance, nor vice versa. If you know where you are going, you probably know how to get there by the quickest and most direct route.”

Purcell assured everyone, “We can’t be lost if we don’t know where we’re going.”

They continued on the trail, which now turned to the south, and they saw no intersecting trails to the west. Gann did not want to do any backtracking, which he said was a waste of time and energy, and also a sign of desperation that would lead to bad morale.

Vivian said, “Avanti.”

The sun was below the highest trees and the jungle light took on that strange quality of shadowy darkness before dusk.

They knew they needed to stop for the night, but there was no suitable clearing, so they set up camp on the narrow trail.

Gann posted a guard — Mercado, Vivian, Purcell, and himself — for two hours each, until first light, when they would move on.

They had not found water, and their canteens were nearly empty. Gann said, “Our first goal tomorrow is water. Without water we will have to sample some of these fruits we see, and edible and poisonous often look similar.” He smiled. “It’s the jungle trying to kill you.”

They spent a restless night sleeping on the bare ground of the path, head to toe, listening to the night sounds of the jungle.

The second day was more or less a repeat of the first, but they found a small, vine-choked stream and filled their canteens.

Purcell noticed that the trails seemed to meander, and most of them headed north, south, or east. Every time they picked up a trail to the west, it turned in another direction, as though the god of the jungle did not want them heading west into the higher ground and the great triple-canopy jungle.

Purcell thought that Mercado was starting to drag, and he suggested to Gann that they slow their pace, which Gann did, but then an hour later Gann picked up his pace. Gann, Purcell thought, was driven, but maybe not the way Vivian and Mercado were driven to find the monastery and the Grail; Gann was driven by Rudyard Kipling — something hidden. Go and find it. If they’d told Gann they were looking for a basketball court in the jungle, he’d have been as enthused as he was to find the Holy Grail. Well… maybe not that enthused. But this had become a challenge for Colonel Sir Edmund Gann. Also, of course, he wanted to save the Grail from the godless Marxists. Then he could meet his princess in Jerusalem, and have a whiskey at the King David Hotel. Next stop, his club in London, where his friends would have to coax the story out of him. Bottom line, Purcell was glad they had Gann with them, but he was starting to wonder if Gann was with them or if they were with Gann.

As for himself, Purcell sometimes felt he was just along for the ride, though he knew there was more to his motives. Vivian was one reason he was here in this godawful place, and Vivian might also be his second and third reason. He wasn’t normally that good a boyfriend. So there were other and more complex reasons for this journey into the literal heart of darkness.

The tropical dusk spread over the rain forest, and they again set up camp on the trail they were on.

Purcell was one of the few war correspondents in Vietnam who had been allowed to travel with a team of the Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol — the Lurps, as they were called. The sergeant of the ten-man team had told him, “Short patrol. Ten days.”

Ten days, deep inside enemy territory in a very hostile environment. He was younger then, and the Lurps had every advanced piece of field equipment known to man, plus enough dried rations to last twice as long as the patrol. They also carried the best weapons the army could offer, and they had three radios if the feces hit the fan, as they said.

Here, however, in the jungles of Ethiopia, they were very much on their own, and none of them knew the jungle, except maybe for Gann, and Purcell was beginning to have doubts about that. Also, the goal here was not recon; it was to find the Holy Grail of Holy Grails—The Holy Grail — and that was the only reason they were not heading for the French Somaliland border, which in any case was the other way.

Days three and four were more trail walking, except now they had made their way west, and the jungle had become triple canopy, and it was hotter, more humid, and darker. The only good difference was that the underbrush had thinned out and they could wander off the claustrophobic trail if they wanted to and walk between the towering trees.

Purcell told Gann, “As I said, the monastery would not be at the end of a trail. It could be that we need to walk off the trail and through the rain forest to find it.”

Gann replied, “If that’s true, then what we are dealing with is a trackless expanse, in which any direction is possible, but only one direction will lead us to where we wish to go.”

“Right. But maybe that’s the best way to cover some of these four thousand square kilometers.”

Gann suggested a break and they sat and looked at the map, which showed the same sea of green ink as it had last time they looked at it.

Gann was trying to determine what ground they had already covered, and he drew pencil lines on the map, saying, “We’ve gone in circles a bit, I think.”

“In fact, that snake back there looked familiar.”

“Hard to tell with snakes, old boy.”

Vivian reminded everyone, “A rock, a tree, a stream. And perhaps a cluster of palm trees.”

No one had been talking about those possible clues since Vivian mentioned them four days ago, but everyone had been at least alert to what seemed so important back in Addis.

Here in the bush, however, the reality changed, or reality became altered. The mind played tricks, as it does in the desert or at sea. The eye sees, and the ear hears, but the mind interprets. They had been so thirsty the day before that they all kept spotting things that were not there, especially water.

Also, they had not seen any signs of human presence since the first day when they’d found the wide trail. This was a good and bad thing. Humans were the most dangerous animals in the jungle, but the Grail seekers needed to go where other humans — Falashas and monks — had gone to meet. They had not even found evidence of a campfire or a dropped or discarded item made by man.

Henry pointed out, “Father Armano did not walk for four or five days from the monastery to the fortress.”

Gann said, “This priest was with soldiers who obviously knew the terrain, and they quick-marched this chap directly to the fortress and into his little cell.” He added, “But I am certain we are still within the area that we agreed at the spa would be the most likely territory for this monastery.” He further added, “That comports, too, with the travel time of the villagers to the meeting place.”

Purcell commented, “I didn’t realize how big four thousand square kilometers was.”

Mercado also pointed out, “For all we know, the monks picked a meeting place that was very far from their monastery. Maybe three or four days away.”

Gann replied, “Well, I hope not.”

Purcell said, “Let’s stick with the logical theory that the monks do not want to walk more than a day to meet the Falashas.” He added, “The monks are carrying stone knickknacks, for God’s sake.”

“Quite right,” Gann agreed.

Vivian was not much into theory or speculation, Purcell noticed, and she didn’t contribute to the men’s attempts to overthink and outthink themselves.

Gann noticed this and said to her, “Should we be waiting for divine inspiration?”

Vivian replied, “You can’t wait for it. It comes when it comes.” She added, “You can pray for it, though.”

“I’ve done that.”

“Try again,” she suggested.

As for the other group dynamics, Purcell had noticed that Henry seemed to have lost interest in Vivian — or in impressing her. There is nothing like exhaustion, thirst, hunger, and fear to get the old libido and weenie down, Purcell knew.

He hoped Henry would hold up, and that Vivian would not have to nurse her ex-lover again. But if it happened, that was all right.

They discussed security and possible run-ins with dangerous people.

Gann said, “The Gallas don’t much fancy the jungle, and we’ve seen no hoofprints or horse droppings. The Gallas’ home is the desert, and they only drop by places such as this after a battle.” He let them know, “The Royalist partisans are operating to the west, and the counterrevolutionaries are mostly in the Simien Mountains around Gondar, so there is no reason for Getachu’s soldiers to be here either. He has his hands full elsewhere.” He assured them, “We have the jungle all to ourselves.”

Purcell reminded him, “We’ve seen three army Hueys fly over.”

“I actually counted four. But these are normal north-south flights from Gondar to Addis, and vice versa.” He assured them, “The army has neither the fuel nor the helicopters for reconnaissance.”

Purcell reminded him, “They have one less helicopter than they used to have.”

“Quite right.”

He also reminded Gann, “Yesterday, a helicopter was going east-west.”

“Well, as long as they keep going, and don’t hover about, then they’re not looking for anything.”

“I think they’re looking for us, Colonel.”

“I doubt that. They think you’ve flown off to Somaliland.” He asked, “Why in the world would you stay here after you’ve shot down an army helicopter?”

“I’ve been asking myself that very question.”

Gann smiled and said, “Well, let’s press on.”

On day five, Mercado said, “We need to head to Shoan.” He reminded everyone, “We are running out of food.”

And Henry was running out of gas, Purcell knew. And they were all dehydrated and covered with insect bites and heat sores.

Mercado reminded Gann, “Regroup, refit, and strike out again.”

Gann nodded, but not very enthusiastically. He said, “I feel we should push on just a bit more… perhaps to the south, to a line parallel with Shoan. We might have more luck that way.” He added, “Then we can head east toward the road, and Shoan.”

Mercado had no reply.

Purcell said, “We could be south of Shoan already.”

“That’s possible.”

Mercado pointed out, “If we just head due east, we will intersect with the road.”

Gann reminded him, “We can’t go due any direction, old boy.” He pointed out, “This is not the desert or the tundra.” He reminded Mercado, “We’re in the bush, you know.”

Mercado insisted, “We have passed the point of no return in regards to food.”

“Not quite yet. But we’re close.”

“This is how people die.”

“Well,” Gann agreed, “that is one way. There are others.” He belatedly asked Mercado, “How are you feeling, old boy?”

Mercado hesitated, then said, “I can make it back to Shoan.”

“Good.” Gann also said, “We must be careful not to get injured or ill.”

Purcell agreed, “Let’s try not to do that.” He asked Vivian, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right.”

Purcell looked into the dark, triple-canopy jungle. “Let’s get off the trail and walk between the trees.” He took a compass heading to the south.

They left the trail, and headed south through the rain forest. The terrain had looked deceptively open between the trees, but as they traveled it, it became clear that they had to cut brush and vines, and the carpet of undergrowth, that had looked low, was actually knee-high in most places.

After about an hour, they realized they weren’t making good progress, and they also realized that by leaving the trail, they’d effectively lost it, and also lost any trail in the trackless expanse. It was like walking through a great columned building, Purcell thought, with a green-vaulted ceiling and a carpet of wait-a-minute vines. Rays of sunlight penetrated the triple canopy in places, and they found themselves unconsciously walking toward the spots of sun-dappled ground cover.

The darkness was getting deeper, and the sun was no longer penetrating into the forest. It was jungle dusk, and they began looking for a place to stop for the night.

Vivian said, “Look. A cluster of palms.”

They looked to where she was pointing to the west and they saw the distinctive trunks of palms, with their fronds buried in the surrounding growth.

They made their way to the palms, where the ground was more clear, and they sat with their backs to the palm trunks.

Gann looked up and said, “Doesn’t seem to be anything edible up there.”

Purcell handed him a cloth bag. “Have a date.”

They drank the last of their water and took stock of their food, which they estimated would last one more day.

Gann and Purcell looked at the map and they both agreed they were between twenty and thirty kilometers west of the road, though they couldn’t determine if they were north or south of Shoan. And Shoan was another thirty kilometers east of the road.

Gann said, “We are a long day’s march to Shoan.” He added, “Unless we run into rough country.”

Purcell said, “That was encouraging until ‘unless.’ ”

They all agreed they’d head back to Shoan in the morning.

Vivian stood and said, “Be right back.”

Everyone assumed she’d gone off to relieve herself, but she kept walking, and Purcell was concerned that she was becoming delirious and had seen another mirage. He couldn’t call out to her because they needed to be quiet, so he stood and caught up with her.

“Where are you going?”

“I saw a glint.”

“Really?”

“Right over here.”

He let her lead him farther into the tight undergrowth.

The ground was rising, he noticed, and he recalled the high, rocky ground he’d seen when he flew over this area, returning from Gondar.

The undergrowth began to thin, and he felt rocks beneath his feet.

He was looking where he stepped, and also looking left and right to be sure no one was there, and Vivian was ahead of him again. He drew his pistol from his cargo pocket and stuck it in his belt.

Vivian stopped and said, “There is the rock.”

He caught up to her and looked west into the setting sun. Spread out to their front was a deep depression in the ground that covered acres of land. There were a few trees growing in the sunken ground, but it was mostly open. In the deep, wide depression grew brush, crawling vines, and tropical flowers, but he could also see acres of black rock coming through the ground growth. An old stone quarry.

Vivian pointed, “The rock.”

On the far side of the abandoned quarry, about a hundred yards away, was a great black monolith — a quarried slab of rock, about twenty feet high and ten feet wide, that had been shaped by human hands, but never transported from here. The late afternoon sun highlighted the black luster on its top edge. Purcell didn’t understand how Vivian could have seen it from where they were sitting.

He heard a noise behind him, pushed Vivian down, drew his revolver, and knelt facing the sound.

Gann and Mercado came up the rise and saw them.

Gann said, “There you are. Don’t shoot, old boy. We’re still friends.”

Purcell put the revolver in his cargo pocket and waved them up the slope.

Gann asked, “What have you found?”

“A quarry.”

Vivian said, “We have found Father Armano’s rock.” She pointed.

Mercado and Gann looked across the quarry and Gann said, “Yes, a quarry. Good scouting.”

Mercado was staring at the black monolith on the far edge of the rock quarry. He looked at Vivian and asked, “How do you know?”

“Henry, that is the rock.”

Gann spotted the carved rock and said, “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

The sun slipped below the tall monolith, and a shadow spread across the expanse of the ancient quarry.

Purcell said, “It’s not going anywhere. Let’s camp here, and we’ll take a look in the morning.”

Vivian nodded. “I knew it was here, Frank.”

Purcell looked at her, then looked downslope from where they’d come. Impossible.

She put her hand on his arm. “No, not impossible.”

Chapter 52

They awoke before dawn and ate the last of their bread and dates, leaving only some dried goat meat, which Purcell thought would taste like steak when they were near starvation.

Purcell knew they would run out of food before they got to Shoan, but he wasn’t sure they would be starting back today. Not with that black monolith staring them in the face. He looked out across the quarry. It was still too dark to see the black slab — but it was there.

They would have to make a decision; should they look next for Father Armano’s tree? Then his stream? Purcell was almost certain that Vivian was right — this was the rock.

Purcell asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Do we press on from that rock, or do we head back to Shoan and return here when we’re reprovisioned”

No one replied, except Vivian, of course. “We did not come this far to turn back.”

Purcell reminded her, “We’re about to eat the last goat.”

“We need only water.”

“Easy to say on a stomach full of dates.” He asked, “Henry?”

Mercado looked at Vivian. “We continue on.”

Gann agreed and said, “We won’t starve to death.” He informed them, “Snakes. Easy to lop their venomous heads off with a machete.” He further informed them, “You squeeze the buggers and get a good half pint of blood into your cup. Meat’s not bad, either.”

Purcell suggested, “Let’s talk about water.” He told them, “In the gypsum quarries where I grew up, there was lots of ground water. In fact, it needed to be pumped out.”

Gann agreed, “Should be good water down there.”

“So,” Purcell asked, “are we all agreed that we’ve found the rock?”

Everyone agreed.

“And that we have to now look for a tree — which could be long gone after forty years?”

Vivian said, “We will find the tree. And the stream. And the black monastery.”

“Good.” Purcell said, “Father Armano did not let us down.” He said to Mercado, “Cool the champagne.”

Mercado smiled weakly. The man did not look well since they began this hike in Shoan, a week ago, Purcell thought. In fact, his face was drawn and his eyes looked dark and sunken. Purcell handed Mercado his last piece of bread and said, “Have this.”

Mercado shook his head.

Purcell threw the bread on his lap, and Vivian said, “Eat that, Henry.” She picked it up and held it to his lips, but he shook his head. “I’m all right.”

Vivian put the bread in his backpack.

Purcell and Gann looked at the map in the dim light. Gann said, “I can see nothing on this map that indicates an abandoned quarry, so I’m not quite sure where we are… but I would guess here…” He pointed to the map where the dark green was a little lighter, an indication that the cartographers had noted the more sparse vegetation shown on the aerial photographs.

Gann continued, “The elevation lines indicate that beyond the quarry, the ground becomes lower and sinks into a deep basin, with dense growth.”

Purcell said, “Regarding Father Armano’s stream, I don’t see any streams.”

Gann reminded him, “You will only see on the map what could be seen from the aerial photographs.” He added, “Which is not much.”

Vivian let them know, “I don’t care what is on the maps. We need to see what is out there.” She pointed at the black rock.

“Good point,” Purcell agreed. He stood. “Let’s go.”

Everyone slipped on their backpacks and they began picking their way down the terraced slope of the rock quarry. The black obsidian was slippery in places, and the vines were treacherous on the downslope.

Purcell glanced at Mercado, who seemed to be doing all right downhill.

The rocky floor of the quarry was about twenty feet down, and near the bottom they saw water flowing out of the rocks. They stopped and washed their faces and hands in the cool ground water, and drank it directly from its source, then filled their canteens. They sat on a rock ledge and waited, as Gann suggested, for the water to rehydrate them.

Vivian looked out at the black slab at the far edge of the quarry. The sun had peeked over the trees behind them, and the rays now illuminated the east-facing side of the rock. Vivian pointed. “Look.”

They all looked at the twenty-foot-tall slab, and they could now see that the face of it had been etched with a cross.

Vivian said, “We are close.”

They all stood, except for Mercado, who was still sitting, looking at the cross on the rock.

Vivian said to him, “Come on, Henry. We’re almost home.”

He nodded, stood, and smiled for the first time in days.

They continued down to the floor of the quarry, then began making their way across the uneven rock and tangled growth.

Gann said, “By the look of this place, I’d say it has been abandoned for a very long time.”

Purcell wondered if this was where the black stone had come from to build the monastery. He assumed it was. Or had they done again what they were good at — making false assumptions, misinterpreting evidence, and tailoring the clues to fit their theories? Maybe not this time. Somewhere inside him, Purcell felt that they had arrived at the threshold of the black monastery.

They reached the opposite side of the quarry and began climbing the terraced rock. It was not a difficult climb, but they all realized they were weaker than they thought.

The black monolith was set back from the edge of the quarry, and they stood looking at it, and at the cross that they could now see had been deeply cut into the stone by a skilled stone carver. It wasn’t a Latin cross, Purcell noted, but a Coptic cross.

At the edge of the quarry, they could see freshly cleaved faces of obsidian, evidence that people had been here to cut small pieces of the stone.

Gann said, “I would guess that this is where the monks get their stone to carve their little doodads.”

Purcell agreed. “Better than chipping away at the monastery.”

Mercado had wandered off a few feet and said, “Look at this.”

They walked to where he was standing, and on the ground was evidence of campfires, and what looked like chicken bones, and eggshells.

It didn’t need to be said, but Gann said, “This could be where the Falashas meet the monks, and set up for the night before returning to Shoan.”

Everyone agreed with that deduction, and Purcell added, “Shoan then must be a day’s walk from here.” He also pointed out, “It took us five days to get here.”

Gann replied, “It appears we took the long route.” He added, “There is obviously a quick and direct route to Shoan. We’ll need to find that.”

“Right. Meanwhile, I think it’s safe to say that the black monastery is a one-day hike from this meeting place.”

Mercado asked, “But in which direction?”

Gann replied, “Probably not east, on the way back to Shoan. So perhaps north or south, or farther west.”

Vivian had walked off, and she called back to them, “West.”

They moved toward where she was standing on an elevation of rock. The area around the quarry was mostly treeless, covered with rock rubble from hundreds of years of quarrying, but surrounding the open area was thick jungle. To the west, where Vivian was looking, stood a dead cedar about a hundred feet away, and about forty feet in height. The towering trunk of the decay-resistant cedar had turned silver-gray, and all the branches had fallen, or been cut off, except for two that stretched out like arms, parallel to the ground, giving the tree the appearance of a giant cross.

Vivian said, “The tree.”

Purcell looked at the giant cedar, which could have been there, alive and dead, for hundreds of years.

Gann and Mercado were also staring at the towering tree, and Gann looked back at the monolith and said, “I believe we have two points in a straight line.”

Purcell had his compass out, and with his back to the monolith, and facing the tree, he took a compass reading. “A few degrees north of due west.”

Vivian said, “Now we need to find the stream.”

Purcell replied, “That should be the easiest thing we’ve done this week.” He said to Mercado, “Henry, get the champagne ready.”

Mercado smiled.

Purcell gave Vivian a hug, then Vivian hugged Henry, then Colonel Gann. The men shook hands all around.

Everyone’s spirits seemed to be revived, and they forgot their fatigue and jungle sores.

Purcell now noticed, about a hundred feet off to the north, a roofless hut built with scraps of the black rock. The hut sat among flowering bushes, and the branches of a tall gum tree hung over the abandoned structure.

Gann said, “A shelter for the nasty overseer, I would bet.”

They all walked toward the hut to check it out, and when they got within ten feet of it, a man suddenly appeared in the shadow of the open doorway and stepped quickly out of the hut, followed by another man, then three more.

Purcell counted five men, dressed in jungle fatigues, carrying AK-47 rifles, which were pointed at them.

Vivian let out a stifled scream and grabbed Purcell’s arm.

One of the soldiers shouted something in Amharic, and all the soldiers were pointing their automatic rifles at Gann, shouting, and gesturing for him to drop the Uzi.

Gann hesitated, and one of the soldiers fired a deafening burst of rounds over his head.

Gann let the Uzi fall to the ground.

Vivian pressed against Purcell.

Someone else appeared at the door of the hut, and General Getachu stepped out into the morning sunshine. With him was Princess Miriam, whom he pushed to the ground.

Getachu looked at Purcell, Mercado, Gann, and Vivian. “I have been waiting for you.”

Chapter 53

Frank Purcell drew a deep breath and tried to take stock of the situation, which didn’t need, he admitted, too much interpretation.

His mind registered that there were five soldiers, and a Huey held seven in the cabin. So if that’s how Getachu and Miriam had gotten here, there were no more soldiers — unless there were.

Getachu had a holster strapped to his waist, but his pistol wasn’t drawn.

Purcell glanced at the Uzi on the ground, about five feet away, between him and Gann. Was it on safety? Probably. Could he get to it before he was cut down by five AK-47s? Probably not.

Purcell glanced at Mercado, who he saw had tears in his eyes. Vivian had her head buried in Purcell’s chest now, her back to the soldiers. Gann was looking at Miriam, who had remained on the ground at Getachu’s feet, lying facedown in the dirt. He saw that she wore a white shamma that was ripped and stained with blood.

Getachu said, “Colonel Gann does not seem happy to see his princess.” He stared at Gann. “I was not happy to hear that they released you in Addis. Now you will wish they had shot you there.”

Getachu knew not to expect a reply from the insolent Englishman, so he continued, “I paid a brief visit to Shoan, to pay my respects to my princess before the UN people came to take her away.”

Getachu looked at Gann, then Purcell. “And what do I find there? I find an aircraft that has been burned. Your aircraft, Mr. Purcell. The very aircraft that my helicopter pilot radioed had fired a rocket at him. And now the helicopter is missing, and presumed lost, with all the men on board.” He let Purcell know, “I have concluded my court-martial, and you will be shot.” He added, “Within the next five minutes.”

Purcell felt the weight of the revolver in his cargo pocket. He was sure the opportunity would come to pull the revolver and shoot Getachu before the five soldiers cut everyone down with their automatic rifles. At least they’d all die knowing that Getachu was dead.

Getachu lit a cigarette and continued what appeared to be a rehearsed speech. “I promised you a cigarette, Mr. Purcell, before I was going to shoot you in my camp. But I am sorry to break this promise. I will promise you, however, a quick bullet in the brain.”

Purcell made the same promise to Getachu, but kept that to himself.

Getachu continued, “So the people of Shoan sheltered a murderer. And they also admitted to me that Mr. Mercado and Miss Smith came from that aircraft, and that the princess gave them all shelter. Therefore, Mr. Mercado will share Mr. Purcell’s fate, and Miss Smith…” He smiled at her, “Miss Smith — Vivian — will belong to me for a time. Then she will belong to my soldiers.” He said something to his men in Amharic and they smiled and looked at Vivian.

Vivian was shaking now and Purcell held her tightly.

Gann was looking at Miriam, but spoke to Getachu. “What did you do in Shoan?”

“Ah! You speak.” He said to Gann, “What do you think I did?”

“You will hang for that.”

“For what? Because the Gallas attacked the village and killed everyone, and burned it all? What has that to do with me?”

“You bastard.”

“Yes, yes, Colonel Gann. Getachu is a bastard. And you are a knight. A knight for hire. A man who sells himself to kill.” He said to Gann, “The prostitutes in Saint George Square charge less, and are better at their profession than you.”

Gann looked at Getachu. “You are the most incompetent commander I have ever faced.”

“Do not provoke me into putting a bullet into your head. I have something special for you to see before you die.” He looked at Miriam lying at his feet and kicked her in the side.

Miriam let out a moan, but remained facedown on the ground.

Gann took a step toward her, but the soldiers leveled their rifles at him and he stopped.

Getachu said, “When I was a young man, and when this princess became a woman — about fourteen, I think — I thought of her in that way. Mikael Getachu, the son of a weaver who worked in the shop of their royal highnesses. I told my father of my desire for the princess, and he beat me, of course. But if he were now living, I would say to him — you see? I have got my princess.” Getachu put the toe of his boot under Miriam’s shamma and pushed it up over her bare buttocks.

He said something to his soldiers in Amharic, and they laughed. He said to Gann, “So we have this lady in common at least.”

Gann took a deep breath, and Purcell knew he was thinking of diving for the Uzi, and Purcell said to him, “No.”

Gann took another breath, then stood straight, as though he were in parade formation, and said to Getachu, “You are not a soldier. You are an animal.”

“Do not provoke me. You will die when and how I want you to die. And I will tell you how you will die — by crucifixion, as you watch me having sport with your lady.”

Getachu looked at Vivian, then said, “And perhaps I will have sport with you both. Yes. I think I would like seeing you, Miss Smith, and the princess enjoying the company of each other.”

Vivian was still clinging to Purcell, her body shaking.

Getachu turned his attention to Mercado, who had stood silently, his eyes closed and his head down. Getachu said to him, “Will you now tell me that you will write nice words about me?”

Mercado did not answer.

Getachu barked, “I am speaking to you! Look at me!”

Mercado raised his head and looked at Getachu.

“I will spare your life, Mr. Mercado. We will do the interviews, and you will write kind words about General Getachu, a man of the people.” He looked at Mercado. “Yes?”

Mercado stared at Getachu. “Go fuck yourself.”

Getachu seemed surprised at the response. “What do you say?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Getachu put his hand on the butt of his pistol. “What do you say, Mr. Mercado?”

Mercado said something in Amharic, and the five soldiers seemed almost stunned, and leveled their rifles at him.

Getachu waved them off, then said to Mercado, “I had planned a quick death for you, who are of no consequence. But I will rethink that.”

Mercado, recalling what Gann had done in Getachu’s tent, turned his back on the general.

Getachu looked at Mercado’s back, then shifted his attention to his surroundings. He said, “So this is the place where the Falashas and the monks come to meet, and to exchange goods.” He looked around again. “I am told this has gone on for several hundred years, which is a very nice thing.” He said to his prisoners, “I have heard of this arrangement, and I wished to see this place for myself. And now I am told that this arrangement has ended because the Falashas have gone. So I came here to bring food to the monks, and I have waited for them — and for you, who I hoped would come here.” He looked down at Miriam. “She is a stubborn woman, Colonel. But she did reveal to me the location of this place, but not to you, I think, or you would have been here much sooner.” He let them know, “I have been waiting for you for six days now, and I had given up hope. But the princess has been kind enough to keep me amused.”

Again, Purcell thought that Gann would go for the Uzi, and he knew that Getachu had left it lying close to Gann to further torment the man.

In fact, Getachu said, “Why is it that none of you brave men will take up that weapon?” He asked, “Is that not a better way to die? Please, gentlemen. Show me your courage.”

Purcell moved slightly so that Vivian was blocking Getachu’s view of his right arm, and he began to move his hand toward the cargo pocket. He was sure he could kill Getachu, and he hoped that Gann would then dive for the Uzi — or if he didn’t, and Purcell was not dead yet, he could go for it himself, and maybe get off a burst. But whatever scenario played out, he, Vivian, Gann, and Mercado would be cut down by bursts of automatic rifle fire. And that was better than what Getachu had planned. He put his hand on Vivian’s thigh, close to his cargo pocket.

Getachu also let them know, “When I am finished with you here, I will find the monastery of the monks, which I know is close by, and I will relieve these holy men of their treasure — and perhaps their lives.” He said, “Men have died to protect this thing called the Grail, and men have died looking for it — as you will. You have found death.”

Purcell could hear Vivian saying softly, “No, no, no… Frank.”

He held her tighter.

Getachu turned his attention to Miriam and pressed his boot into her bare buttocks. She sobbed and said something in Amharic.

Getachu said to her, “Do not be sad, my princess. I will take care of you. Are you sad at losing your English lover? Do you want to speak to him? To tell him that you betrayed him? He will understand. You were in pain. He will understand that pain very shortly. And he will forgive you, because he will understand what pain can do.”

Purcell had his hand in his pocket now, and he wrapped his fingers around the butt of the revolver. No one noticed. He hoped he’d live long enough to see Getachu bleeding his life out.

Gann suddenly let out a strange noise, and Purcell glanced at him. Gann had his hands over his face, and he was crying, and his body was shaking. He called out, “Miriam! Miriam!”

She turned her head toward him and said softly, “Edmund… I am sorry…”

Gann reached out his arms to her and took three long steps toward Miriam, and almost reached her, but two soldiers grabbed him and pushed him back. He struggled with them, and kept shouting, “Miriam!”

Purcell understood instantly that Gann was up to something, and Purcell knew this was the moment. He pulled his revolver. Then something suddenly flew through the air and came to rest on the ground, and Purcell saw it was the safety handle of a hand grenade. And he realized what Gann had done.

Getachu was screaming in Amharic at his two men, and he didn’t see the grenade in Gann’s hand that Gann had pulled from one of the soldier’s web belts, and he also didn’t see Gann dropping the live grenade on the ground.

The seven-second fuse had been cooking for at least three or four seconds, Purcell knew, and he should have thrown himself and Vivian on the ground and yelled for Mercado to do the same. But he wanted to kill Getachu himself. He pushed Vivian to the ground, facedown, raised the revolver, and pointed it directly at Getachu’s heart.

Getachu saw two things in a quick succession — the grenade, and Purcell taking aim at him. His eyes widened.

Purcell fired, and Getachu was knocked back into the stone wall of the hut.

Purcell threw himself on top of Vivian, who was trying to stand, and he yelled at Mercado, “Down!”

The grenade exploded.

The sound was literally deafening, and Purcell’s eardrums felt as though they were going to burst. The ground shook under him.

And then there was complete silence. He felt a burning in his right calf where a piece of hot shrapnel had sliced into him. He whispered in Vivian’s ear, “Do not move.” He told her, “Getachu is dead.” But he wasn’t sure of that.

He rolled off her quickly and rose unsteadily to one knee, with his revolver pointed toward the hut.

No one was standing.

He stood and drew a deep breath, then took a few steps toward the hut. The air was filled with dust and the smell of burned explosives.

The two soldiers who’d been grappling with Gann were gushing blood from multiple wounds where the burning shrapnel had torn into their bodies.

Gann, too, was a mass of blood, and his khakis were soaked red. He was still breathing, but frothy blood was running from his mouth.

Purcell moved toward the three soldiers who’d been standing near the hut, near Getachu. They hadn’t caught the full blast of the grenade, but they were down, bleeding and stunned by the concussion. One of them looked at him.

Purcell raised his revolver and put a bullet into each of their heads.

He moved over to where Miriam lay on the ground. He saw no blood, and thought she’d been low enough to escape the flying shrapnel. He knelt beside her and shook her. “Miriam.” Then he saw the wound in the side of her head where a single piece of shrapnel had entered her skull. He felt her throat for a pulse, but there was none. He reached out and pulled her shamma over her buttocks.

He stood and looked at Getachu, who was sitting against the wall where he’d been thrown by the impact of the bullet. His face had caught some shrapnel, and one of his eyes was a mass of blood.

Blood also ran out of his mouth from the bullet wound in his chest. His one eye was following Purcell.

Getachu seemed to be trying to speak, and Purcell knelt near him, though he still could not hear. Getachu spit a glob of frothy blood at him.

Purcell wiped the blood from his face, put the revolver to Getachu’s good eye, and pulled the trigger.

Purcell stood and turned, and looked at Vivian, whose body was still shaking, though he saw no blood, and she seemed all right.

He looked at where Mercado had been standing, and saw him lying facedown on the ground.

Purcell knelt beside Vivian and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Her face was buried in her arms, and she gave a small nod.

“Do not move.”

He stood and walked to Mercado and knelt beside him. Mercado’s backpack had caught a lot of shrapnel, and he had taken shrapnel in his legs and buttocks, and blood was seeping through his khakis. His shirt was also wet, Purcell saw, but not with blood. The champagne bottle had broken. “Henry. How are you, old man?”

No response.

“Henry.” He shook him.

Purcell heard and felt a rushing in his ears; his hearing was returning. “Are you all right?”

“I said I’ve been hit. I’ve been hit.”

Purcell couldn’t tell if the wounds were serious, but the blood was not gushing. It came to him that Henry, by turning his back on Getachu, may have saved his own life. He said to Mercado, “Just lie still. You’ll be all right. I’ll be right back.”

He went back to Vivian, knelt beside her, and again put his hand on her shoulder. “Can you stand?”

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet, keeping her back turned to the carnage around the hut. She put her arms around him. “Frank… oh my God…” She began crying, then took a deep breath and asked in a quiet voice, “What happened?”

He told her again, to reassure her, “Getachu is dead.”

She tried to turn to look toward the hut, but he held her against him.

He said, “The soldiers are dead. Listen to me — a hand grenade exploded. Colonel Gann is dead. Miriam is dead.”

She let out a long cry, then got herself under control and asked, “Henry…?”

“Henry is… he will be okay.” Maybe.

She turned her head to where she’d last seen Henry, and saw him facedown on the ground with blood on his pants. “Henry!” She pulled loose from Purcell and he let her go.

She ran over to Mercado and knelt beside him. “Henry!”

Mercado turned his head toward her and smiled. “Thank God you are all right.”

Purcell didn’t recall Henry asking him about Vivian, but he supposed Mercado was in shock.

Vivian was caressing his hair and face. “You will be fine. You are fine. Just lie still… are you in pain?”

“A bit. Yes.” He turned his head toward Purcell. “Am I going to live?”

Purcell knelt opposite Vivian and put his fingers on Henry’s throat to feel his pulse, which seemed strong. “How is your breathing?”

“All right…”

He felt Henry’s forehead, and it was not cool or clammy. He informed Mercado, “Gann is dead. Miriam is dead.”

“No… oh, God… what happened…?”

“Gann got hold of a grenade.”

Purcell stood and walked over to one of the soldiers he’d executed. There was a U.S. Army first aid kit on the man’s web belt, and he snapped the canvas kit off and carried it to Vivian. He put it in her hand. “There should be a pressure bandage in there, and iodine. Get his clothes off and we’ll patch him up.”

She nodded and asked Mercado, “Can you sit up?”

She helped him roll onto his back, which seemed to cause him pain, then she pulled him up into a sitting position, took his backpack off, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Purcell went back to the other two executed soldiers and retrieved their first aid kits, which each held a pressure bandage. He checked the two soldiers who’d taken the full brunt of the grenade blast, but their web gear was as shredded as their bodies, and he saw that one of them had a protruding intestine.

He went back to Gann, and he knelt beside him and felt for a pulse, but there was none. Purcell pushed his eyelids closed and said, “You did good, Colonel.”

Henry was naked now, on all fours, and Vivian was dabbing iodine on his legs and butt, which caused him to cry out in pain.

Purcell walked over to them and knelt on the other side of Henry. He counted three shrapnel wounds in his left leg and two in his buttocks. He could see the shrapnel sticking out of one wound and he pulled it out, which made Henry yell in pain. Purcell said, “I think you may be very lucky.” He took his penknife from his pocket and said, “This will hurt, but you will remain still and quiet.”

He managed to get all but one piece of metal out of Mercado’s flesh, and Henry kept relatively still, as Vivian kept talking to him.

He gave Vivian the other two first aid kits. “Bandage the ones that look the worst.”

He looked at her kneeling on the other side of Mercado and she looked at him. He said, “Be quick. We need to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“You know where we’re going.”

She nodded, then started opening the first aid kits.

He stood and again surveyed the scene, then lit a cigarette. “My God. Oh my God.”

He wanted to bury Colonel Gann and Miriam and not leave them for the jackals, but he didn’t see a shovel, and he didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had to.

He walked over to Gann and hefted him onto his shoulder, then carried him to Miriam and laid Gann down beside her. He crossed their arms over their chests. Hopefully Getachu’s men, looking for their general, would know that someone had respected the bodies, and maybe they’d do the same. Maybe, too, they’d be happy to find their general with a bullet in his brain.

Purcell watched Vivian help Henry into his clothes. Henry seemed all right.

Purcell pulled up his pant leg and looked at his wound. A piece of metal protruded from his calf and he pulled it out.

Shrapnel from an exploding grenade or shell was a random thing, he recalled from his time in Southeast Asia — hot metal shards or pieces of spring-loaded wire, killing and maiming some, leaving others untouched. It really didn’t depend too much on where you were standing or lying when it went off — close, far, standing, or prone as Miriam was — it didn’t matter. When it was your time, it was your time. When it wasn’t, it wasn’t. It was Colonel Gann’s time, and Miriam’s time. It was not Henry Mercado’s time. Or Vivian’s, or his. Indeed, they had been chosen.

He walked over to them and said, “We are going to the black monastery. We are going to see the Holy Grail.”

Chapter 54

Purcell had the Uzi, and he gave Vivian his reloaded pistol, and Henry retrieved one of the AK-47s. They slipped on their backpacks and walked away from the rock quarry, down the slope toward the giant cedar, and continued on toward the wall of tropical growth in front of them.

No one spoke, but then Mercado asked Purcell, “Did you take any food from the soldiers?”

“No.”

“We should go back.”

Purcell replied, “Put your hand into the hand of God, Henry. That’s why we’re here.”

Mercado stayed silent as they continued on, then said, “Yes… I will.”

Vivian said, “We are all in God’s hands now.”

Purcell did not have to look at his compass to know he was heading due west, with the cedar and the monolith behind him.

There was a worn black rock lying on the ground at the edge of the wall of trees, and beyond the rock he saw a trailhead. They crossed over the black threshold and entered the rain forest. Limbs and vines reached out overhead and immediately blocked out the sunlight.

The land sloped gently down, and the trees became taller, and the canopy became thicker. After a while, Purcell noticed that the ground was becoming soft and spongy as though they were entering a marsh or a swamp.

The trail was no longer defined by walls of vegetation, but it was discernible if you looked ahead and saw the slight difference in the ground where it had been walked on.

Mercado said, “I don’t see a stream.”

Purcell did not reply, and neither did Vivian. They continued on.

The ground was definitely spongy now, and Purcell could see changes in the landscape. Huge banyan trees started to appear, as well as swamp cedar and cypress, which he remembered from the swamps of Southeast Asia.

The land was sloping more steeply now, and Purcell guessed they were entering the bottom drainage basin from the Simien Mountains, which he’d noticed in the air and on the map but which they had not thought to consider as a place where the black monastery could be.

In retrospect, he realized that they had been… maybe mesmerized by Father Armano and his story, and the priest had given them information, but not knowledge. He had told them enough to put them on the trail, but not enough to bring them to the end of it. They had to do that on their own. And if indeed they were chosen, then they would be guided on the right path.

Purcell looked around him. The terrain appeared deceptively pleasant and sylvan, but he could now see pools of water filled with marsh fern on both sides of their disappearing path. Marsh gasses rose in misty clouds, and the air was becoming hot and fetid. Wispy strands of gray moss hung from the tree limbs, and he noticed that there were a lot of dead trees, and creeping marshwort ran over the deadwood on the wet ground. Huge, silent black birds sat on bare tree limbs and seemed to be watching them as they passed. He realized that the marsh was much quieter than the jungle, and there were almost no sounds from insects or birds. A sense of foreboding came over him, but he said nothing and they pressed on.

The land seemed to be bottoming out and becoming a true swamp, and Purcell wondered if this was passable. He also wondered if they were going in the right direction. The path had disappeared, but there was a meandering ribbon of spongy higher ground that passed through the swampy expanse of terrain. The mud was sucking at their boots, and Vivian took off her boots and socks and walked barefoot through the muck. Purcell and Mercado did the same.

Vivian noticed now that Purcell had blood on his pant leg, and she asked him, “Did you get hit there?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me see that.”

“I’ve already seen it.”

She insisted they stop, and Purcell sat on the trunk of a fallen tree while Vivian knelt in the mud, extended Purcell’s leg, and examined his wound.

He said, “It’s really okay.”

She had an iodine bottle in her pocket and she dabbed some of it on his wound, then sat beside him on the tree trunk.

They looked around at the swamp. Without saying it, they all knew that Father Armano had never mentioned a swamp.

Vivian said to Mercado, “Sit down, Henry.”

He sat slowly on the tree trunk and grimaced in pain.

Purcell said, “I think I left a piece of metal in you.”

“Indeed you did.”

They all smiled, but it was a tired and forced smile. The shock and horror of what had happened was still very much with them, and it was time to say something.

Purcell said to them, “Edmund Gann was a very brave man.”

Mercado said, “He was a soldier and a gentleman… a knight.”

Vivian said, “I know that he is with Miriam now.”

“Indeed he is,” Mercado said.

Vivian put her arm around Purcell and squeezed him closer to her. “You are a very brave man, Frank Purcell.” She told Henry, “He threw himself over me when the hand grenade exploded.”

Mercado nodded.

Vivian put her hand on Mercado’s shoulder. “What did you say to Getachu in Amharic?”

“The usual — that his mother was a diseased prostitute who should have smothered him at birth.”

Vivian said, “A bit rough, Henry.” She smiled.

Mercado said, “I hope he is now burning in hell.”

No one spoke for a minute, then Mercado asked Vivian, “Do you still have Father Armano’s skull?”

“I do.”

“Well, we are going to take him where he wanted to go.” He stood. “Ready?”

Vivian and Purcell stood, and Vivian assured them, “The stream is ahead of us.”

They continued on.

The ground was rising now, and the marshland was again turning to tropical jungle. What looked like a beaten path began to materialize in front of them.

Vivian suddenly stopped and said, “Listen.”

They stopped and listened, but neither Purcell nor Mercado could hear anything.

Mercado asked, “What do you hear?”

“Water.” She moved to her right and the men followed.

Running down the slope was a small stream, choked with water lilies and vines. It was, Purcell thought, a stream from the hills that emptied into the marsh basin.

Vivian knelt down and put her hand into the flowing water. She turned to Purcell and Mercado, silently inviting them to do the same.

They knelt beside the stream and let the water run over their hands.

Vivian said, “This is the stream. Do we follow it? Or do we follow the path?”

Purcell thought the path and the stream seemed to run parallel, but they might diverge.

Mercado said, “Ruscello. He said it twice. Il Ruscello. The stream.”

Vivian nodded and stood. They all stepped, still barefoot, into the cool, shallow water and walked upstream.

Without looking at his watch, Purcell knew they had been walking about five hours, and it was close to noon — a half day’s walk from the meeting place of the monks and the Falashas. And it had been mostly due west, even through the meandering path in the swamp. It seemed simple enough, after you’ve done it, and he tried to imagine Father Armano on his patrol with the sergeant named Giovanni, walking from the black rock — which the priest and the soldiers had no way of knowing was a meeting place of Coptic Christians and Jews. Giovanni had then taken his patrol to the giant cedar, and through the jungle, to the swamp, and to the stream, all of which the sergeant had found by accident on a previous patrol. And they had arrived again at the black monastery — but this time they entered by the reed basket, and only Father Armano came out of there alive.

And when the priest was healed of his wounds — by nature or by faith — he was given over to the Royalist soldiers and taken by the same route, or maybe another route, to his prison in the fortress, and there he remained for nearly forty years. And whatever he had seen in that monastery had sustained him, not only for all those years in his cell, but also for the hours he walked with a mortal wound on his way back to where he had experienced something so remarkable — or miraculous — that he had to return to that place, even as he was dying. He never made it back, but he had made it as far as the ruined spa, which was not even there when he had last been that way. And what he had found in the spa were three people who themselves were trying to find something. Trying to find the war. And Father Armano had asked them — or asked Vivian—Dov’è la strada? Where is the road?

Indeed, where is the road? There are many roads.

The jungle became thicker, and the stream became more narrow, and they could see smaller streams feeding into it from the higher ground. They also noticed more clusters of palm trees. None of them doubted that the black monastery was ahead, and that they were walking toward it. It was just a matter of hours, or maybe days, but it was sitting there, still hidden from the eyes of men, still unwelcoming to visitors, yet hopefully ready to receive them with a basket made of reeds.

The sun was setting ahead of them, and the few patches of sunlight were becoming dimmer. It was harder to see more than twenty or thirty feet ahead, but the stream guided them.

The jungle looked somehow different, Purcell thought, and it was more than the changing light that made it seem altered. Purcell noticed date palms and breadfruit trees, and trees that bore fleshy fruit, and other trees that he thought bore nuts, and black African violets covered the ground. This was tended land, a tropical garden such as Purcell had seen in Southeast Asia, barely distinguishable from the untamed jungle. He said, “The monastery is just ahead.”

Vivian, who was in the lead now, said, “I know.”

The stream bent sharply to their right, and they followed it for a minute, but then Vivian stepped out of the stream and walked between two towering palms.

Purcell and Mercado joined her.

To their front, about thirty feet away, rising above a twenty-foot-high thicket of bamboo, was a black wall.

Vivian stared up at the glossy stone. She said simply, “We are here.”

Chapter 55

Purcell had no image in his mind of what the wall would look like, and he saw now that the black stones were the size and shape of brick, laid without mortar, piece by piece, until the wall reached about forty feet, the height of a four-story building.

The sun had sunk lower, and the east side of the monastery where they were standing was in dark shadow, but there was a sheen to the wall, and the bamboo thicket and surrounding palms seemed to be captured in the stone.

None of them seemed to know what to do or say next, but they all understood, Purcell thought, that the road that had taken them here was strewn with betrayals and death — but also with acts of courage and caring, and memories that would last them a lifetime — no matter how short or long that was.

Mercado asked, “Do you think anyone is here?”

Vivian replied, “Let’s find out.”

They pushed their way through the thicket of bamboo to a narrow path that ran along the base of the wall and they went to their right.

They walked along the wall for about two hundred yards to the corner and turned along the north side, then around to the west, and to the south side of the long wall, then back to where they had started. As Father Armano had said, the monastery was built in the style of the Dark Ages, without an opening. But sitting on the ground now was a large basket attached to a thick rope.

Purcell was about to ask if they were sure they wanted to climb into the basket, expecting some hesitation or discussion, but Vivian threw her revolver on the ground and stepped into it without a word. Mercado dropped his AK-47 and followed. They both looked at him. Purcell said, “Maybe we want… a potential survivor.”

Vivian said to him, “That is your decision, Frank.”

Mercado said, “Don’t wait for us too long.”

Purcell hesitated again, then threw his Uzi on the ground and climbed into the basket, and held on to the rope that Vivian and Mercado were holding.

The basket began to rise.

They didn’t bother to look at the top of the wall — there would be no one there.

The basket came to a halt, and they were now able to see the roof of the church that Father Armano had described.

They climbed over the parapet onto a wooden walkway that surrounded the walls, and they looked down into the monastery below. It was as the priest had described — a fountain, gardens, eucalyptus trees, palms, and a pond. The peaked roof of the large church was made of a translucent material, also as the priest described. There seemed to be no one there. But of course, there was.

Again without hesitation or comment, Vivian led the way along the wooden walk until they came to a staircase, which they descended.

They all walked toward the closed doors of the church, which were covered in silver that had obviously been rubbed and polished not too long ago, and they saw the symbols of the early Christians on the doors — lambs, fish, and palms, and in the center of each door was a Coptic cross.

Vivian asked Purcell, “Do you have any weapons?”

“No.”

“Then open the door.”

Purcell grasped the large ring on the door and pulled. The door opened easily and he went inside, followed by Vivian, then Mercado.

The inside of the large church was simple and almost crude. The walls and floors were of black stone and there was no ornamentation, and Purcell was reminded of the church of San Anselmo in Berini. But unlike San Anselmo, the altar here was a simple and crude table, partially covered by a white cloth, on which sat a Coptic cross. Also unlike San Anselmo, there were no stained glass windows — in fact, no windows at all.

But the sun was still high enough to come through the high ceiling, and a strange, prismatic light came through the translucent roof, casting rainbows over the floors and walls. The colors seemed to dance, and to separate into their primary components — red, green, blue — then blend again into their various hues.

Purcell noticed a door behind the altar, and he walked toward it. Mercado and Vivian followed, and Vivian said in a barely audible voice, “This is the way Father Armano walked.”

This door behind the altar was open and Purcell passed through it. He sensed, but could not see, that he was in a large space. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out that he was in a long, narrow gallery, and that two rows of stone columns ran the length of the space.

Vivian came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. Mercado stood to Vivian’s side, and they all stood where Father Armano and the ten men of his patrol had stood forty years before. Unlike Father Armano, Sergeant Giovanni, and the other men, they did not move forward — but neither did they retreat.

At the end of the long gallery they could now see two fluttering candles, but the candlelight was so weak that they could see nothing but the flames, as though the fire radiated no light, but gave light.

They stared at the candles. Vivian said, “It is there.” She took their hands and began walking with them between the two rows of thick columns.

As they passed each set of columns, Purcell thought that he should be feeling fear, but a sense of peace took hold of him, and he continued on with Vivian’s hand in his.

As they got closer, the two candle flames seemed to give off more light, and he could see that the candles were set toward the middle of a table. As they got even closer, they could all see that it was a very long table, on which was a white cloth that seemed to shine as though it was luminescent.

Behind the table were thirteen high-backed wooden chairs, facing them, and Purcell understood that this was a representation of the table of the Last Supper, with a chair for Jesus and all the apostles, including one for Judas, though that chair was often missing in such representations.

Vivian and Mercado didn’t see it at first, because it was small, and the bronze was not polished, but in the center of the table, between the two candles, and opposite the chair of Jesus, was the kiddush cup of the Passover. The Holy Grail.

Vivian stepped close to the table and let go of the men’s hands. She stared at the cup. Mercado, too, stared at it, and took a step closer. He said, “It is filled.”

Vivian said, “It is beautiful.” She turned to Purcell. “Frank?”

He kept staring where they were looking, but he saw nothing.

“Frank?” Vivian seemed concerned. “Do you see it?”

He didn’t reply.

Mercado kept staring at the spot. “How do you not see it?”

“There is nothing there.”

Vivian again looked at him, then back at the spot between the candles. “Frank… do you feel it?”

“I don’t… I can’t see anything, Vivian.” He looked at her, then at Mercado, realizing they were sharing the same hallucination.

Tears began running down Vivian’s face. “Frank… you must see it. Why can’t you…?”

He stepped up to the table and reached his hand out between the candles, but there was nothing there.

Vivian said to Purcell, “Do you want to see the cup or do you want to be proven right?”

Purcell stood there, not knowing what to say or what to do. Finally, he said, “I want to see it, and believe it.”

Mercado opened Vivian’s backpack and he pulled the skull out and quickly unwrapped it.

Purcell said to him, “Henry, what are you doing?”

Vivian replied, “We have brought Father Armano home.”

“No, put that back.”

But Mercado had set the skull on the table, in the center, facing the seat of Christ, and Christ’s cup.

Purcell drew a deep breath and reached for the skull, and he felt something touch the back of his hand. He felt it again, and he looked at his hand, where two drops of red glistened in the candlelight.

He stared at the two red drops that were now running down to his wrist, then he looked past his hand, and sitting on the table was a small bronze goblet that he had not seen before.

He kept staring at it, to be sure it was there, and he said to Vivian and to Mercado, “I can see it.”

He held the back of his hand toward Vivian and Mercado and Vivian smiled. Mercado, too, smiled, and said, “We were worried about you, Frank.”

Vivian said to him, “I was never worried about you. You just needed to believe in your soul what your heart already knew.”

Purcell nodded.

The three of them looked up toward the ceiling, and they all saw the lance, suspended in air, and as they watched, a red drop formed on the tip and fell into the cup.

They heard something behind them and they turned. Coming out of the darkness of the gallery, between the columns, were figures moving toward them. As the figures got closer, they could see that they were men in monks’ robes and cowls, walking two by two. The monks came closer, then separated, left and right, and stood in a line behind them, but seemed not to notice them though they were only a few feet away.

The monks all dropped to their knees, facing the long table, then bowed their heads and began praying silently.

Vivian took Purcell and Mercado by the arm and turned them around, facing the table, and they dropped to their knees. Vivian took their hands again and they all bowed their heads.

Vivian said softly, “We have come a long way and we are not afraid.”

Purcell didn’t know if she was speaking to him, to the monks, or to God. But whatever fear he felt at seeing the monks vanished, and he squeezed her hand. “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Mercado said, “I told you, Frank, we have been chosen.”

Vivian said, “We can go home now.”

Purcell nodded. He was ready for that journey home.